


Saying Goodbye

by Tishina



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-01 22:01:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 77,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4036111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tishina/pseuds/Tishina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone walks out of Cullen's past and into Skyhold, and he discovers how little he really knew about an old friend.<br/>DAO Surana Warden and her mabari Timur (I loved Dog, so he gets a lot of attention). Friendship, loyalty, and very slow romance.<br/>Spoilers. Takes place entirely post-Corypheus with an occasional flashback. Rating for frank language. The Inquisitor is a relatively minor character in this story.<br/>Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Arisha is mine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rosewater and Violets

 

This loveliness of Arisha and Timur traveling together was a gift from Cerulione at [Cerulione-Draws!](http://cerulione-draws.tumblr.com/)

Thank you so much!

* * *

Rosewater and Violets

* * *

The woman reached behind her head, pulling the pins from the bun that confined her long dark hair, letting it cascade down behind her like a shimmering dark rope while she stared at him, lips wet and parted as if half aroused already. She used her slender hands to loosen it from the tightly wound coil, her fingers combing half of it forward to cloak her past the waist in dark silk, never taking her pale blue-grey eyes from him. “Cullen, no one will think to look for either of us for hours, and I have a key to the store rooms under the tower from doing inventory. We may never get another chance if Irving sends me to help the army at Ostagar.” She stepped closer to him, a scent of roses and violets drifting up from her hair, and a soft, delicate hand gently stroked his cheek, her eyes appealing. “I thought you cared for me.”

For all the hours Cullen had spent watching the young mage as an apprentice, he had never really noticed just how red and full her lips were, or noticed how intoxicating her fragrance was, and felt his body responding to her proximity, despite his best efforts. The young woman stepped a little closer, and he could have sworn he felt her full breasts brushing his chest through his armor.

“No!” He shoved her away, drawing his sword. “I don’t know who or what you are, but you are not her and I will not fall for your temptations!”

“Cullen!” The woman stared at him in shock and fear, cringing back. “What is wrong with you, why are you threatening me? I thought you loved me?”

“You are nothing like her; she would never tempt me like this! Now begone!”

Suddenly he was gazing down at the young woman, lying on the floor, his sword still quivering in her chest where it was clearly thrust through her heart, her lifeless grey-blue eyes staring up at him in accusation, blood pooled on the floor around her and soaking her robes. Greagoir stood a few feet away, his own sword drawn. “Well done! That blood mage almost had you under her control when I walked in. I’m glad to see your Templar training held over your…unwise infatuation.”

Greagoir walked around at a distance, surveying the scene silently as Cullen stared in shock. Had he really struck the killing blow? Why didn’t he remember it? He struggled to hold his expression calm despite the way his gut twisted as he stared down at her lifeless body. As Greagoir passed behind him out of sight, he reached into his sash and turned, throwing a knife that quivered in the wall as Greagoir ducked, laughing, and a husky woman’s voice issued uncannily from his mouth.

“Fascinating. You’ve fantasized about this woman, but you also know the woman of your fantasies isn’t the woman you fantasize about. So it’s the fantasy you desire, not the woman. I can make that fantasy real for you, though, if you’d just stop fighting me.” The woman’s body blurred, and one of his dead Templar brothers lay there in its place, and when he looked back up, Greagoir had vanished to be replaced by a desire demon. “My fantasy would be more real than the woman, you know.”

The glowing pink walls of his cage reappeared, though he suspected they had just been hidden from him before because he was never able to move more than a few steps. Refusing to engage the demon in conversation, he knelt and began to recite the Chant:

“These truths the Maker has revealed to me:

“As there is but one world,

“One life, one death, there is

“But one god, and He is our Maker…”

* * *

Cullen sat up abruptly, tangled in his sheets from thrashing in the grips of his nightmare. Maker’s breath, _that_ one again. At least he was sleeping a little better some nights as the lyrium seemed to be losing its grip slowly. He might never be entirely free of the craving, but the pain and illness from the physical symptoms was definitely lessening. The ex-Templar drew his knees up to rest his forehead on them, waiting for the shaking to pass as he inhaled the crisp cold air blowing in through the hole in his ceiling. The others had urged him repeatedly to allow them to have it repaired, but he found it helped in the middle of the night to be able to see the stars.

Strange that that particular nightmare from his torture at Kinloch was the most persistent. In a bizarre twist, the desire demon had shown him the truth about his infatuation, that he’d had a fantasy and he had given it the face of a lovely young woman who’d been kind to him. Unfortunately, he hadn’t worked that out until months later when he began to recover a little, and when he first saw her while he was still imprisoned...well, he was never certain later just what he’d said, but he could remember the hurt on her face, quickly covered. He’d only seen her at a distance twice after that, and they’d never spoken again.

Cullen still felt a twinge of guilt that he’d never had a chance to apologize, though sometimes late at night when they shared a few drinks around the fire in the main hall, others had coaxed Leliana into telling stories about the blight or sharing what she knew about the Warden Commander’s life in the years since the blight. The woman who emerged in her stories was no-nonsense and unyielding, single-mindedly driven to rebuild the Wardens into a respected, viable group within Ferelden, a far cry from the mage he’d once thought too kind-hearted to be sent to fight or even heal at Ostagar, much less to the Grey Wardens.

The shaking stopped as his thoughts wandered back to the Inquisition. Since the defeat of Corypheus a few weeks ago, some people had returned to their old lives, including several senior members of the Inquisition. Despite her undeniable skill, few people missed the ambitious Madame Vivienne. Blackwall, or Ranier, had left mixed feelings behind him when he had set out to truly Join the Grey Wardens, but most seemed glad that he’d survived his Joining. Solas, of course, had turned out to be an illusion, and now they had no idea who the mage had really been. Varric had made noises about returning to Kirkwall, but he lingered on, as had Sera, to Cullen’s annoyance.

Hearing one of his aides enter his office downstairs, he stood and quickly washed in the icy water in the basin, dressed and armored with the speed of long practice. “Commander!” The guard saluted as Cullen climbed down the ladder into his office in the early morning light. “I have a message for you. Sister Leliana said to tell you that a Grey Warden arrived this morning. She said to tell you it isn’t urgent, but to let you know that they are all in the war room when you woke. They had breakfast served there.”

“Thank you. Did Sister Leliana mention the name of the Warden or what his business was with the Inquisition?” He adjusted the collar of his coat and reflexively checked his sword to make certain it was securely in its sheath.

“No sir, though apparently someone vouched for her because she was taken directly to Sister Leliana.”

Cullen nodded and moved purposefully toward the War Room where Leliana and the Inquisitor leaned over a table, studying a document. Between Cadash and Leliana bent a slender woman still wearing a loose hooded coat, back to the door with an unadorned business-like staff topped with a pale blue crystal strapped on her back. _A mage, then_ , he thought, a little surprised that the Wardens would send a mage as a messenger. Pausing for a moment, hand habitually on the hilt of his sword, he could hear Leliana pointing out the locations of several groups of refugees near the border of Orlais while the Warden spoke to the Inquisitor in a voice too soft for him to hear. Finally, he cleared his throat.

“Inquisitor, I’m told we have a visitor.”

Cadash gave him her normal good-humored smile, but while Leliana continued to peruse the document, the Warden mage turned, head down enough that her hood concealed her face as she moved. Slender, scarred hands reached up to gracefully push the hood back, revealing dark, tightly braided hair that framed a warm, light brown, angular face. Familiar eyes of the lightest pale blue-grey he’d ever seen now regarded him calmly but warily.

“You! What, I mean…” Cullen’s voice trailed off in confused recognition as Leliana glanced over her shoulder at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Commander, is that any way to greet an old friend?”

* * *

 Afterword

* * *

I expect the game writers will probably return to the Warden’s search for a cure at some point (the hint that there might be a cure has been around since Avernus and Witch Hunt at least, which means it’s very likely they’ve been building to something.) So, I am leaving the result of the search in the west intentionally vague. Surana has a specific purpose in returning at this time unrelated to the cure, and by leaving it vague, the story can eventually be adapted to whatever they finally reveal.

 

 


	2. Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introductions and breaking the ice a little in an unnerving meeting.  
> Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Arisha is mine.

* * *

The mage Warden made a gesture of disagreement. “Nightingale, I was hardly more than a child when we knew each other; Ser…pardon, _Commander_ Cullen probably barely remembers me.”

Zheevá looked back and forth between the three of them, her face impassive, but Cullen had learned to read her expressions well enough to catch lively curiosity in her green eyes. “Warden Commander, you and Commander Cullen are friends?”

The woman regarded him steadily, raising an eyebrow questioningly. “I once would have claimed that, or at least that we were friendly. While I did and still think highly of your commander, Inquisitor, I think after our last meeting, I would…feel presumptuous in laying a claim to friendship for the Commander, however.” The pale blue-grey eyes held no judgment, but Cullen could sense the tension in a frame now hard with muscle and so obviously thin even for an elf in the close-fitting leather that she wore that he doubted there was more than an ounce or two of fat left on her.

Cullen felt a shiver at the sight of this stranger who had been refined in fires he couldn’t imagine and who brought back memories that he’d tried to bury, then shook his head. “I owe you my life and my sanity, as did others who were there; it seems inadequate to call you simply friend. Any other words were…” She shook her head, cutting him off, seemingly unaware of Zheevá’s eyes darting curiously back and forth between them.

“Trauma. Believe me, much worse has been thrown at me over the years and for far less reason. But I was simply doing my job as a Warden, Commander.” she offered her hands to him, but her face lit up briefly with a genuine smile that was obviously relief, and he could sense some of the tension flowing out of her. “It was a bonus that I was saving people who were also friends.”

Leliana finally turned, resting one hip against the table while she crossed her arms, watching as Cullen very gently took the Warden’s hands, squeezing them briefly in welcome. “I told Arisha that she was worried about nothing.”

Cullen released her hands as the Warden made a face at Leliana. “When you’re a Warden, Nightingale, you learn never to make assumptions about how people will receive you, especially childhood friends. Or should I call you Most Holy now?”

Leliana rolled her eyes. “Not yet, please. And I will always be Nightingale to you, Arisha.”

Zheevá quietly poured a mug of steaming coffee, passing it and a plate of meat pastries to Cullen, falling into that invisible listening state he had become so familiar with. He’d noticed that there were almost two inquisitors, one outgoing, boisterous, and sometimes abrasive and another who was silently self-effacing, nor had it escaped his attention that people got so used to the very visible Cadash that the silent Cadash effectively vanished. However well this normally worked when she wanted to observe, this time it failed on the Warden Commander who firmly indicated another mug steaming with the delicious aroma of coffee. “Inquisitor, don’t forget your own breakfast. You’ve all been very kind about being woken pre-dawn, especially by a Warden, considering the damage the other Wardens did under Corypheus’s influence.”

A noise from the corner of the room attracted Cullen’s attention, and he glanced around to find himself being regarded intently by a mabari. An old mabari whose muzzle was almost entirely grey, but with alert, dark eyes and so many scars crossing his fur that the kaddis he wore seemed superfluous in announcing what he was. Cullen didn’t sense hostility from the aging warrior, but he definitely felt as if he was being appraised coolly, almost as if he had been recognized, before the hound lowered his head to rest on his paws with a sigh, his gaze now on Arisha. “Is that…”

The Warden glanced around to follow his gaze, and the hound raised his head again, tail thumping briefly in acknowledgment. Arisha responded with such an affectionate smile for the mabari that for just a moment Cullen saw the sternly controlled Warden replaced by the gentle apprentice he’d known, and the years dropped away from her fiercely loyal guardian as well in the look they exchanged. Cullen could have sworn he smelled the scent of air just before a lightning flash. Then the Warden was back in place and the mabari rested his head on his paws with a sigh, eyes still fixed attentively on the woman, and the only scent in the air was that of rich, dark coffee. “Timur? Yes, he’s rather insistent on following me everywhere these days.”

At that moment, Josephine hurried in with a stack of papers, followed by Cassandra. “Warden Commander, may I present Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast? Seeker, may I introduce Warden Commander Arisha Surana who has arrived to visit with Sister Leliana and offer her help to the Inquisition, at least for a time.” Josephine spotted Cullen and smiled in delight. “Ah, Commander, you have been introduced to Warden Commander Surana then?”

“No need, they’re old friends, Josie.” Leliana handed a large mug of coffee to Cassandra while Josephine stared at Cullen in surprise.

“You are? How do you two know each other?”

Surana hesitated, biting her lip in a habit that again made more than a decade drop away abruptly for Cullen, then reassert itself in painful memories. Gruffly, he answered before she could. “Warden Commander Surana was trained at Kinloch Hold before then-Warden Commander Duncan recruited her. I stood at her Harrowing, in fact.”

* * *

The meeting was brief, with Surana briskly giving them some idea of which problems she could offer help in dealing with. She was quick to grasp the tactical problems, speaking quickly and concisely with surprisingly sensible ideas for the best deployment of forces even where she could not help. Or perhaps not so surprising, Cullen thought, given that she had learned the most effective uses of both mage and non-mage forces under the forcing house of a blight. And then she’d spent almost a dozen years since the death of the archdemon honing those skills in command of a small army of some of the most highly skilled men and women in Thedas, experiences that seemed to have left very little of the young woman he’d known. Or perhaps he’d known her even less well than he’d thought.

When the meeting concluded, Leliana whisked Surana away for a private conversation, “to catch up on news,” as they put it. Cullen paused in making notes on the troop movements to watch them leave the War Room, noticing how Timur pressed against her leg, and her hand rested on his head in an almost unconscious, habitual gesture of affection as they slowly walked away. When the door closed behind them, he discovered the Inquisitor had stayed behind, perched on a window ledge where she was watching him curiously.

“Something about her bothers you, Commander?”

“Not really, I was just thinking how much the past dozen years have changed her. Though I suppose she may be thinking the same about me, if she’s heard about my years in Kirkwall.”

Zheevá’s eyes were alive with curiosity. “How has she changed? What was she like before she became a Warden? And _hero_.” She rolled her eyes with that word, a woman who was no more comfortable in that role than Surana had been, at least according to Leliana.

“Understand that I didn’t know her very well, Templars and mages aren’t supposed to chat idly, but we saw a lot and so did they. She was very serious and gifted but also kind-hearted as an apprentice. Almost everyone liked her, but she didn’t seem to have many close friends, and one of the few she had…,” He broke off, realizing that the Inquisitor didn’t need to know about Jowan’s betrayal, especially since she’d helped the First Enchanter expose it, or that she’d been caught in a power struggle between Irving and Greagoir.

“Well, serious does seem to describe her still.”

“True. But she seems…I don’t know, it’s as if someone performed alchemy on a rose and transformed it into a fine steel blade. As Warden Commander she’s had the duty to recruit new Wardens to rebuild their forces, men and women chosen because they were deadly and would do what needed to be done. Some of them were people she recruited directly from the gallows, and I can’t imagine the apprentice I knew making those choices and compromises. It seems so…”

“Grey?” Zheevá grinned ruefully. “That’s why they’re Grey Wardens, and what almost made it such a disaster when Corypheus began to manipulate them. Maybe you saw only one side of her while the Warden who recruited her sensed the fine steel hidden in the thorns. But the Inquisition has made its own compromises, like, I dunno, recruiting an ex-Carta smuggler and turning her into some sort of holy chosen of Andraste and then the leader of the armies of the faithful. You have to admit there were just a _few_ compromises involved in that.”

* * *

Afterword

* * *

 While the Inquisitor isn’t at all central to this story about Surana’s relationship to Timur, Leliana, Cullen, and others from the past, I decided to put this story in the same world as an Inquisitor in one of my other stories so the Inquisitor has a well-developed background and personality.


	3. Snow on the Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet conversation...
> 
> Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Arisha is mine.

CHAPTER 3 – Snow on the Wind

* * *

 

Surana and Leliana sat companionably on the balcony outside Leliana’s alcove at the top of the rotunda tower with Timur contented stretched on the bench between the two women. His head rested in Leliana’s lap as she gently scratched his head, clearly enjoying his reunion with the red-haired bard. “I wasn’t certain you’d get the message in time, old friend. Once they make me Divine, it will be very difficult to have an uninterrupted visit with you.”

“I was already on my way back to more civilized lands. Though I’m not certain ‘civilized’ is a word I’d apply to the reactions I encountered when I first reached Orlais.” Arisha grimaced. “Being an elf and a mage doesn’t usually make me popular anyway, but identifying myself as a Warden normally forces people to be…circumspect, rather than angering them more. We left the first town in a hurry when I realized how hostile they were, and we didn’t approach another one until I could contact one of your agents. I was starting to think I’d have to make my way north then across to the Waking Sea to get a ship to Amaranthine.”

“You were just unfortunate enough to arrive at one of the towns closest to Adamant; you wouldn’t have had problems, or well, only had normal problems, elsewhere in Orlais. I’m glad you reached someone, though; that detour would have meant you’d have reached Skyhold about a month after I became Divine, and then you’d have had to make the trip to Val Royeaux instead.”

Arisha rolled her eyes, sighing. “My favorite thing, a city full of stuffy people who’ll see my ears and the mage staff and nothing else. Well, having a mabari also marks me as Ferelden but you usually take care of _that_ problem by staring them down, don’t you, Timur?” The sharp note in her voice was replaced with amused affection when she addressed Timur, who briefly thumped his tail and raised his head to gape his jaw in a canine grin before returning his head to Leliana’s attention. “Thank the Maker for small favors that I didn’t have to visit you there, at least not this time.”

“Inquisitor Cadash is no more enthusiastic than you are, but she’s agreed to attend my elevation. After much coaxing by Josie, I suspect.”

The Warden laughed softly. “I like her, she reminds me of one of the first Wardens I recruited, another casteless dwarf, from the Legion of the Dead.” Leliana watched her old friend closely out of the side of her eyes, catching the trace of sadness that flickered through her mask that anyone less familiar with the mage probably would have missed. Tactfully, she chose to avoid that topic.

“How did you know she was casteless?”

“The brand on her face. She was either born to a casteless mother in Orzammar’s Dust Town, or she was stripped of caste and branded as an adult. I’d say her mother was casteless. Those born casteless grow after getting the brand, so it looks a little different.” She raised a thin eyebrow at the spy questioningly.

“Your eyes are as sharp as ever.” Leliana’s voice was fondly approving. “That fits what my spies were able to trace about her family after they came to the surface almost forty years ago. We were never able to trace anything definite in Orzammar itself. They never keep records of people living in Dust Town anyway; but when someone is stripped of caste, everyone tries to erase them from their records.”

Timur gave her hand a polite lick of gratitude then shifted so his head rested in Arisha’s lap instead, eyes fixed on her face. Leliana watched the years slip away from both for a moment as the mage looked affectionately down to rest her hand on her guardian’s head, and he heaved a sigh of contentment. Leliana was the only one of Arisha’s old friends—other than the drunkard Oghren—who’d seen her more than briefly since the end of the blight, and she had watched her once-gentle friend become more remote each time one of her decisions cost lives. Leliana may have been released by Justinia’s dead hand before she was too far lost to find her way back to the faith she’d found in Lothering, but the long-dead hand of Warden Commander Duncan still rested just as surely on Arisha. Timur was the only one who could make that glacial armor slip now, though perhaps other old friends could help start a crack.

“I told you the Commander would be pleased to see you.”

Arisha chuckled, stroking Timur’s head lightly. “Subtle, Nightingale. I’m relieved that he was gracious. But pleased to see someone who has to remind him of what he went through, especially right now when he’s still struggling with lyrium withdrawal? I doubt that very much.”

“As you said, trauma.”

“I’ve had much worse things thrown in my face, sometimes by people under my own command.” She shrugged, the pragmatic Warden Commander speaking briskly now. “When it’s trauma, usually they regret it when they’ve had some time to heal. My job is to make the decisions, then live with the consequences.”

“But none of those words were spoken by someone you cared for.” Leliana observed her friend closely, but the only indication of reaction was a tightening of Arisha’s lips.

“There was never anything to that, Nightingale, not really; you’ve always read things into what he said in Kinloch to me.” Arisha raised pale grey-blue eyes to meet Leliana’s rich blue ones in exasperation. “We were friendly, and he was always kind to me, not frightening like so many of the Templars. And no, I wasn’t blind to the fact he was very attractive, but so were other young men in the tower. I heard whispers about him having feelings for me, but I thought they were just vicious gossip until…” She shrugged. “Honestly, I can’t imagine there was more to it than one of his tormenters uncovering some fantasy he had. You and I aren’t so young that we don’t realize most young people have fantasies about someone they know without it meaning anything.” The mage held her head up to enjoy the sunlight in this sheltered spot, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, the breeze crisp but with a hint of damp chill that promised snow later.

Leliana chuckled, wondering if her bombshell would shake that indifference. “Well I’m glad _that_ reunion went well because you have remarkable timing.”

Arisha tensed, eyeing her friend suspiciously. “Why don’t I trust the sound of that?”

“Well, their Majesties, the king and queen of Ferelden want to pay their respects to the new Divine, but understandably, they would both prefer not to travel to Orlais to attend my installation as Divine.”

The Warden covered her eyes, and Timur whined in concern as she groaned. “Maker, please tell me this isn’t going where I think it is?”

Leliana continued merrily on, though there was sympathy in her eyes. “King Alistair and Queen Anora will be at Skyhold in less than a week. So unless you’re going to pack up Timur and desert the Inquisition already, I’m afraid you will have another reunion shortly.”

The elf’s curses were quite creative and wandered into at least two other languages while her friend listened in amusement. “Tsk, tsk, you really shouldn’t blaspheme, and in front of the Divine! How scandalous!”

Surana’s response was brief and quite earthy, and the people down in the courtyard stared upward, startled, at the peals of laughter from above.

* * *

 


	4. Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance meeting and an unnerving conversation.  
> Spoilers. Takes place entirely post-Corypheus with an occasional flashback. Rating for frank language. The Inquisitor is a relatively minor character in this story  
> Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Arisha is mine.

* * *

The routine of hearing reports from his officers and aides and giving orders for the day quickly soothed the unnerving meeting from Cullen’s mind. By mid-morning, he needed to get away from his desk to stretch his legs a little and began a brisk inspection of the patrols and guards on the walls, quietly pleased at the professionalism most of the soldiers now displayed. It hadn’t been easy to take such a disparate group of volunteers from several—often hostile—countries and races and turn them into a cohesive military force, but they’d managed it. He strode through the door into the tower housing the Inquisitions’ mages, unsurprised to find a lively buzz of conversation on the levels above him as he passed through. Gossip moved faster than a breeze through a place like this, and the mysterious pre-dawn arrival of a mage who was regarded as a hero would certainly have them avidly speculating.

He nodded politely to a nearby mage and exited through the far door, so intent on heading toward the garden stairs by habit that he almost didn’t notice the slight figure perched on a sunny corner of the wall overlooking the garden in one of the wide areas intended to provide room for a trebuchet or other siege engine. The mage had shed her coat and hood, her dark hair tightly braided in a style that seemed designed to emphasize the points of her ears almost aggressively. In fact, her body language projected a proud, almost hostile, remoteness as she gazed down into the garden below, clad almost entirely in leather rather than more traditional robes. Only the staff openly announced her as a mage, though there was an air of power in that proud remoteness that would have alarmed all but the most oblivious. The only thing about her which contrasted with that cold image was the hand slowly stroking the head of the mabari.

Cullen had resolutely put the thought of her sudden arrival out of his conscious mind and was emphatically avoiding the need to decide how he himself felt about it. The sight of her stopped him in his tracks, however, unthinking except in his wonder at the contrast between this uncompromisingly hard-edged woman and the softly seductive one of the demon’s fantasy that had replayed in his nightmare. Arisha had obviously taken the sound of his approach for a guard patrolling the wall and ignored it, but when the boot treads paused, she glanced around with a hint of irritation on her face that cleared when she saw him.

“Commander.” This time she used his title without hesitation, and a little of the stiffness of her posture vanished, though replaced by wariness in her eyes. Timur raised his head briefly, clearly identified and dismissed the human and settled his head back into her lap with a sigh of contentment.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you, Warden Commander.”

“Not at all, I just didn’t feel like dealing with _that_ yet.” She tilted her head to the side just slightly, enough to subtly indicate the garden with a ghost of a humorless smile. He approached near enough to the wall to see the clusters of nobles and Chantry clerics whispering in the garden and very obviously looking but not looking up at the corner where she sat.

“Maker. Is it always like that?” She smiled very briefly at the amused disgust in his voice, then shrugged, the remoteness returning.

“Usually. Sometimes even other Wardens. Some are pretending they aren’t awed. Some are whispering about the terrible things Wardens are rumored to do. Some of the more traditional, particularly the clerics, are adding whispers of blood magic to those rumors.” There was a surprising amount of weary cynicism in her voice. “And probably more than a few rumors about how elves can’t be trusted and probably were behind Corypheus himself.”

“Surely not.”

Her bark of soft laughter held nothing of humor. “Commander, during the blight, we went to Denerim to get supplies and gather information, and I overheard people gossiping in the market that elves _caused_ the blight and were helping the archdemon and that that was why Howe had sealed the alienage to purge it. And I somehow managed to be absent during the entire time you were fighting Corypheus and reappeared not long afterwards. So yes, someone is saying exactly that.”

“Maker’s breath.” He saw a brief flash of surprise at his use of the mild oath, but not, he thought, disapproval. “ _I_ find that mob difficult enough to swallow; no wonder you wanted to disappear for a couple of years.”

“You get used to it and ignore it after a while, like anything else. I just needed to think something over, and Timur can enjoy the sun here while the wall shelters him from the wind. So I decided to play the unapproachable statue of a hero.” Arisha smiled down into Timur’s eyes warmly, and the mabari licked her hand affectionately. Cullen glanced more closely at the mabari and realized he was resting on her missing coat. When he raised his eyes, he found hers had followed his, but she just shrugged. “He’s starting to feel the cold more.” No more explanation than that.

“I’m sorry, you said you came up here to think, and I’m disturbing you.”

“No, unless you plan to suddenly start gushing or throwing not-too-subtle accusations at me. I think I had passed thinking through what Leliana dropped on me and approached obsessing when you arrived.” Arisha nodded to indicate the wall on the other side of the corner where Timur rested in an invitation that was obviously meant to be easily declined or ignored without giving offense. The ex-Templar almost pled duty and continued on his inspection, but after another glance into the garden, he decided his presence might help keep the curious at bay and took a seat.

“What did Leliana drop on you that you needed to think about so badly? If I’m not being rude, I mean.”

She began scratching Timur slowly behind the ears, her eyes fixed on the top of the wall at the far side of Skyhold. “Their Fereldan majesties are arriving shortly. I’m not precisely looking forward to the meeting, which is probably why Leliana omitted that information from the notes she sent by bird while her people were helping us across Orlais. She knew I’d detour or delay rather than be here at the same time, and then she wouldn’t see me before she left for Val Royeaux.” Arisha simply sounded resigned, but Timur licked her hand again. “Ah well, you’ll be glad to see Alistair, won’t you?”

Curious about her reluctance, Cullen couldn’t resist asking, “Weren’t you and his majesty friends during the Blight? I mean, the way Leliana tells the stories…” At just that moment, he remembered another long-forgotten rumor he’d heard whispered before he left for Kirkwall, at a time when he hadn’t cared what happened to her or any other mage. He could have kicked himself when he saw her expression freeze.

“If you’re asking if the king and I were lovers, then just say so.” Her voice was still resigned, but weary as well now, as if mechanically reciting a memorized answer. “Yes, we were, for a few months during the Blight. No, being a mistress even to a king isn’t to my taste, nor do I think he would want one. We haven’t even spoken in private since he agreed to marry Anora, and as far as I know, while he may or may not nurse some fond memories, both of us buried that over a decade ago.”

“I…I’m sorry, I just meant…” His stammered apology penetrated the wall that had almost visibly slammed up between them, and she abruptly focused on him in chagrin.

“Andraste’s ass, I’m sorry, I forgot who I was talking to, Commander. The people I recruit into the Grey Wardens are, for the most part, um, grey at best, with more than a few criminals I snatched from jails and the streets as well as soldiers. Anything less than blunt simply encourages them to ask more questions or make up stories, so I got into the habit of bluntly satisfying their morbid curiosity in a way that discourages any more questions.” Arisha chuckled ruefully, genuine apology in her eyes for a moment. “I forgot I was speaking to someone who was trained by the Chantry and was used to having things explained a bit more...circumspectly.”

Cullen accepted her explanation, hoping he had managed to keep his face from reddening at her words, but he also understood what she meant. Not that many of the Templars he’d served with, particularly in Kirkwall, hadn’t had fairly…interesting…private lives, but their ties to the Chantry had kept most of them within certain bounds of speech and behavior publicly, especially within the Tower. Aveline’s guards had been a little bit of a shock when they began working together in the aftermath of the Chantry’s destruction, and he still found himself uncomfortable with the crude jokes and stories he heard thrown around in the guards’ barracks. “I actually hadn’t remembered that rumor until I stuck my foot into it; I should be the one to apologize. But if that isn’t the reason you are worried about their visit…?”

“Ah.” She stroked Timur’s head. “It isn’t _his_ majesty that I want to avoid, though it’s better for his reputation if we’re never alone together. It’s _her_ majesty.” He must have looked puzzled because she raised an eyebrow at him. “Commander, I executed Loghain myself. In front of Anora, _his daughter_. Who, despite everything he’d done and despite her agreement that justice should be carried out, adored him. What do you think she sees when she looks at me?” Pale grey-blue eyes held his firmly, with a trace of the weariness he’d heard in her voice. “The Hero of Ferelden? The Warden Commander? Or a vengeful woman standing over her father’s body with a sword in her hand, covered in his blood? When she sees me, does every detail of the moment the blow was struck replay over and over?”

“Maker. I wasn’t aware…well, I can see why you expect this to be an unpleasant visit if you stay.” And here already was another side of her he’d never even imagined: this woman he’d always remembered as kind-hearted, coldly carrying out an execution of a high noble in front of his own daughter, then turning around and coolly brokering a marriage between her own lover and that same woman. And all that barely a year after her Harrowing.

Surana shrugged. “There’s really nothing for it. Timur and I need rest, and Skyhold is too remote to travel somewhere else quickly. And since I _am_ back, I’d have to meet with them eventually if I resume my duties as Warden Commander. I might as well get it over with on somewhat neutral ground.” She stroked Timur’s head gently. “I’m sorry, I’m not entirely sure how we ended up discussing my problematic relationship with their majesties. I admit I was quite surprised when I arrived and Leliana informed me that you were not only here, in command of the Inquisition’s army, but no longer a Templar. It would seem your life has also been…interesting in the last few years.”

He managed a tense laugh, rubbing his neck uncomfortably, both hoping and dreading she already knew the worst. “You could say that. How much did Leliana tell you?”

“Just the barest of facts. I’d heard you’d gone to Kirkwall and were made Knight-Captain there. Rumor before I left said you were in the middle of whatever happened when the city went up, and Leliana said they found you in charge of the Templars, trying to hold the remainder together when Cassandra recruited you.” She shrugged, watching him with eyes that held no hint of accusation or condemnation when she mentioned Kirkwall, though he suspected she’d heard more than the little she mentioned. “You quit the Templars and since then, you’ve been trying to break the addiction to lyrium, and according to Leliana, done a remarkable job in turning the Inquisition’s recruits into an army. Which is very high praise from her.”

“I’d have to say that _is_ rather bare. Kirkwall…” He hesitated, guilt making it hard for him to explain his actions to the one person who should have been able to expect more from him, but her expression strangely seemed to invite him to say more.

“You had a hard time after Kinloch, Commander, that kind of trauma always leaves its mark on you.” Cullen had not expected her to jump so directly to the heart of his reluctance, nor did he understand why she seemed to be offering him sympathy rather than reproof. It must have shown in his face, however, because Arisha simply shook her head, her voice level and rather businesslike. “Do you think I haven’t made mistakes, Commander, and perhaps for much less reason than you had? Believe me, I know about trauma; my mistakes have cost…” Timur thrust his wet nose into the palm of her hand, and she smiled down at him, leaving her statement unfinished. “You know as well as I that sometimes there _is_ no right answer.” She tilted her head toward the garden, then glanced at the mage tower where a dozen faces peeped over the high wall. “ _They_ may see a hero. An army of ghostly faces who parade through my dreams disagree.”

He almost protested, then paused as the implications of what Surana said sank in…that after a dozen years of sacrifice, she was merely haunted by her actions. “The guilt, do you ever forgive yourself?”

“I don’t know.” Her eyes were on Timur’s now. “All I know is you have to accept it then use it to make certain you always remember that price when you have to make the next decision. And the next. And the next. Because the real tragedies are born when people refuse to accept and learn from that guilt.” Surana raised her eyes to his, and he was surprised at the calm coolness of her gaze, then she swept the hold slowly, examining the details in silence. “Strange that a remarkable place like this was forgotten, and that it was rediscovered in the right place at the right time. It’s incredibly strong, and parts of it like the garden are lovely. Parts of it smell of dust and age, though, and the taste of pain and death linger in the cells. I’m not sure those can ever be washed away.” Cullen wasn’t entirely certain she was only speaking of Skyhold, though he didn’t recall the younger Surana as having a taste for Solas’s kind of obfuscation nor did mysticism fit the older pragmatic Surana.

Finally, she sighed and rose, her expression resigned. “I suppose I have to face that mob below sooner or later. It’s as well I ran into you, Commander and was reminded to be on my _court_ behavior. I’ll bet you ten gold sovereigns that at least three of those nobles proposition me before midnight tonight, Commander.”

His expression was shocked for a moment, then he remembered the ball in Halam’shiral, and she must have seen that distasteful memory in his eyes, because she raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“So, you’ve experienced some of their _amusements_ for yourself? Imagine, a woman who slew an archdemon: how many Orlesians or other nobles are setting their sights on being known as someone who bedded her? Especially an _elf_ ; we’re all whores in their minds, you know.”

He managed not to wince at her bluntness as he also stood, handing her the coat when Timur moved away from it to press against her leg. “Unfortunately, you’re probably right.”

“Now, if I’d responded to _nobles_ in the language I use on one of my Warden recruits… Well, I’d prefer not to undermine the work you’ve done here, and I usually slap down the recruits who try to prove their _virility_ and _courage_ by…” she hesitated, her eyes flicking to his, and obviously reworded what she was about to say, “let's just say I respond in language that would make some of your soldiers blush.” There was real humor in her eyes now, then she shrugged. “I’ve also been known to literally freeze particularly offensive recruits in place. If any noble…oversteps, I can’t promise not to respond with a similar reminder that mages are never helpless.”

Cullen watched the remoteness drop back into place with that warning, and she and Timur walked toward the stairs, slowly and almost regally, leaving him feeling even more unnerved than ever at this stranger with a friend's face.

* * *

 

* * *

 


	5. Fresh Bread

* * *

CHAPTER 5 – Fresh Bread

* * *

Cullen arrived in the Great Hall just before the noon meal to discover the tables filled to overflowing with the curious. Fortunately, no one had been quite arrogant enough to sit at the table reserved for the senior members of the Inquisition and he was able to claim his normal place next to Cassandra who greeted him absent-mindedly, intently perusing a letter. Iron Bull almost always ate with the Chargers, but Sera, Dorian and Varric were exchanging cheerful insults until Varric noticed Cullen had joined them.

“Hey, Curly, is it true you know her?” Cassandra ignored the Freemarcher, but Sera and Dorian broke off their banter to fasten their attention on Cullen.

“Her who?” The morning had been unsettling enough that the ex-Templar was in no mood to cooperate with Varric’s predictable snooping.

“ _Her_. The Hero of Ferelden, the missing Warden Commander.” Varric rolled his eyes, his tone exasperated.

“As she is currently at Skyhold, I don’t think ‘missing’ is the appropriate description, do you?”

“Varric is an expert on missing heroes and champions.” Cassandra dropped her wry comment into the conversation without even looking up from the letter, though her tone was closer to humorous than biting after all these months in Varric’s company.

“Seeker, I’m wounded. I haven’t withheld anything important from you in months at least!” Cassandra just snorted at the dwarf while continuing to read. “Come on, Curly, you’ve been holding out on us about the Warden.”

Ignoring the dig for the moment, Cullen filled his mug from the pitcher on the table, expecting the weak beer routinely served with lunch, only to discover he was drinking a rich, dark ale. He studied his mug in amusement. “It would seem the kitchen intends to impress today.” He took another sip, deliberately letting Varric and the others stew before finally regarding them mildly. “Yes, I knew the Warden before she was recruited. I wasn’t ‘holding out,’ I didn’t think it was necessary to state the obvious.”

Varric snorted, then paused, obviously adding things together. “Wait, you trained as a Templar in Ferelden before you came to Kirkwall, and she was trained in Ferelden’s Circle.”

“Your grasp of the obvious is improving.”

Sera scoffed. “He’s not going to tell you shite, Varric. Bet he knows the juicy gossip about her.”

Cullen checked the baskets of bread, his stomach growling from the unaccustomedly light breakfast he’d had that morning, and buttered a slice of fresh warm rye bread. “Oh, you want juicy gossip, do you?”

Varric and Sera both perked up at that, while Dorian pretended disinterest. Even Cassandra glanced up, more puzzled than curious.

“Okay, Curly, you can stop dragging this out. Give.”

Cullen couldn’t resist tormenting the Freemarcher as payback for past hazing, and intentionally dragged out his teasing by taking a bite of the bread and chewing slowly before answering. “Well, there was this rumor once, scandalous, I really shouldn’t repeat it…”

Sera tore a corner of crust off her bread and threw it at Cullen. “Out with it!”

“Another apprentice accused her…Oh, it was just a rumor.”

Cassandra’s lips were twitching by now as if she realized that he was intentionally needling the pair.

“Curly! Cough it up, or I’ll make sure the Warden hears how well you play Wicked Grace.”

Cullen glared at Varric for a moment in silence, then shrugged. “She enchanted someone’s hair green.”

Varric and Sera glared at him in disgust, having expected something far more interesting than a juvenile prank, though Dorian looked surprisingly thoughtful.

“Hair dye? That’s it?”

“It was a really ugly shade of green, and it didn’t wash out for five or six months. There was no proof, you understand, but the girls had had…a disagreement.” Blithely, he took another bite of the rye bread, ignoring the pair’s sour looks. “I’m afraid that’s as juicy as the gossip about her got at Kinloch.” Which was technically true, he told himself firmly, as the other rumors had been about _his_ feelings, not hers.

“So how well did _you_ know her, Commander?” Varric was a persistent as a terrier; Cullen had to give him that.

“We spoke a few times, no more than any other apprentice and Templar.” He hoped his voice was still casual because any hint of the actual rumors, much less the truth, would have the two tormenting him for months and probably chase Surana back out of Skyhold.

“Commander Cullen stood at my Harrowing.” A soft voice startled all of them, and Dorian, Varric, and Sera stared into the shadows behind Cullen as Surana glided out into view, Timur pressed against her leg. Cullen half rose from his seat to give her a polite half bow. “Commander, Seeker, I don’t think I’ve been introduced to your companions.”

Sera stared at her, frowning. “I forgot, you’re an elf.”

Surana seemed to be having trouble controlling her lips, but she nodded agreement, raising an eyebrow inquisitively at the young woman.

“I hope you aren’t too elfie.”

Cullen was still turned toward her, and she met his eyes briefly, clearly a bit bemused by the comment. “I shouldn’t think so. I’m mostly mage-y, I think. Or maybe it’s warden-y these days.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Commander Surana, the rude young woman is Sera, the dwarf is Varric Tethras of Kirkwall, and the mage is Dorian Pavus. This is Warden Commander Arisha Surana.”

Surana rested her hand on the mabari’s head and nodded politely to each of them. “I am pleased to meet you. This is Timur.” The mabari studied each of them in turn, as if memorizing their features, scents, and names.

Cullen glanced down the table as if counting chairs. “Will you be able to join us for lunch, Warden Commander? I believe the cooks are excited about the chance to serve a meal to you.”

She chuckled softly. “It’s one of the few good things about being who I am, I suppose, people love to feed me. Yes, Lady Montilyet is arranging for something to accommodate Timur, on Leliana’s suggestion. Oh, that bet I offered this morning, Commander? I’m two-thirds of the way to winning it already.”

Cullen struggled to keep his expression neutral, and managed an unstrained smile. “Then it’s a good thing I didn’t take that bet.” Timur was staring intently at the slice of warm rye bread still in the commander’s hand, and impulsively, he tore off a corner and offered it to the mabari, unnoticed. He wolfed it down, giving a single wag of his tail in polite acknowledgement.

Dorian scrutinized her closely, apparently finding her choice of closefitting leather pants and jacket instead of a robe intriguing in a southern mage, and finally set aside his air of disinterest. “You said Commander Cullen ‘stood at your Harrowing?’ I’m not quite sure I understand what that means.”

For the first time, Surana seemed genuinely surprised. “You’re a mage, how can you not know…”

“Tevinter, my dear Warden. We do things a bit differently there.”

Now she evaluated him with the same intensity he’d given her. “Tevinter, here? That sounds like a story worth hearing. Is it Magister or Altus? You sound too confident to be a Laetan mage.”

It was his turn to be startled. “As I live and breathe, someone in the south who doesn’t think every mage in Tevinter is a Magister. I’m Altus, of course, or was. But back to my question…?”

Surana glanced down at Timur, stroking his head gently. “It means that when I was being Harrowed, Commander Cullen was the Templar who was charged with running me through if I failed.” She met Cullen’s eyes with another brief smile.

“Andraste’s ass.” Varric regarded Cullen, then her, apparently completely dumbfounded. “And you consider him a _friend_?”

“I found it reassuring, actually. It gives you more confidence when the Templar standing over you with a sword is someone you know will not jump to conclusions without evidence.” The ex-Templar reddened slightly for a moment at the absolute confidence in her voice, thinking how differently some of the Kirkwall mages may have viewed him in that same role. Her eyes noted that reaction, but didn’t change.

“Curly? Reassuring? Are you sure we’re talking about the same man?” Cullen glared at Varric, but heard a cough of stifled laugh from behind him at the use of the nickname. To his relief, Surana didn’t comment on either the nickname or his hair.

At that moment, Josephine bustled up, followed more sedately by Leliana and Cadash, a servant carrying a low bench behind them. “Ah, Warden Commander. The alchemist will not be joining us for lunch, so we can put you and your…friend between Leliana and the Inquisitor. We will be making alterations this afternoon so the table is more appropriate to a larger group. Leliana said you would wish your friend at meals with you?” Josephine was obviously struggling with the correct protocol for including a mabari at the table.

“That would be most kind of you, Lady Montilyet.”

Dorian steepled his fingers, resting his chin on them as he watched the servant arrange the bench and adjust the place settings between Leliana and Surana. Timur stepped up onto the bench with slow dignity, then sat, his head now at the same height as the women on either side of him. “Fascinating. Is this a Ferelden custom, then, to include your dogs at the dinner table?”

Varric snorted. “First off, Sparkles, this _is_ Ferelden so anything’s possible when it comes to their dogs, but second, that’s not a dog, that’s a _mabari_. He’s probably smarter than some of the soldiers out in the barracks.”

Timur made a conversational noise, somewhere between a soft growl and a bark that almost seemed to agree with the dwarf, and Surana stroked his head with an affectionate smile, before studying Varric curiously. “Most Freemarchers don’t know much about mabari, and even fewer seem to have any affection for them?”

“The Champion of Kirkwall was chosen by a mabari. Didn’t necessarily make the Kirkwall elite any fonder of her, but I had the chance to get to know him. Even taught him to play Diamondback, but he could never resist wagging his tail when he had a good hand.”

That startled a genuine laugh out of the Warden, and the mabari fixed Varric with an intent stare. “I never thought to try to teach Timur to play cards, unless Oghren or Zevran made a try?” The mabari turned to look at her, growling slightly. “No, I guess not.”

Dorian caught her eyes. “I admit, I know very little about mabari, but I haven’t seen any others included at dining tables since I’ve been in the south. Not that I object to the charming company.” The mabari studied the mage for a moment, then ducked his head to sneeze below the table, then eyed at the mage again as if making certain it was very clear that the flattery hadn’t impressed him.

Leliana scratched the mabari’s ears from the other side. “There are very few mabari here at Skyhold, and none are imprinted on a senior member of the Inquisition. But regardless, Timur isn’t just any mabari, are you, old friend?” The mabari leaned affectionately into the former bard’s attentions for a moment.

Cadash had climbed into a taller chair at the head of the table, and was watching the exchange in fascination, one elbow on the table. “Well, I don’t know much about them either. What makes him different?”

“Because he fought an archdemon.” Arisha stroked his head slowly, and the entire group fell silent, suddenly looking at the mabari differently. Even Cassandra stared past Cullen and Leliana, as if seeing him for the first time. “He imprinted on me at Ostagar, and ever since he has been the warrior I could trust absolutely, the guardian at my back.” The mabari locked eyes with the Warden, for a moment with the look of a fierce mabari in his prime, and her words were soft but carried unshakeable conviction. “My partner who has kept me alive more times than I can count.” She glanced around the table, a polite but unyielding expression on her face. “Anytime he isn’t welcome with me, you’ll have to forgive me if I dine elsewhere.”

* * *

Afterword

* * *

I've always felt the game was a bit inconsistent in their treatment of mabari since it's stated that they understand fairly complicated things. But considering how Fereldens are about their mabari in particular, I think he'd be considered a hero in his own right to Fereldens. And my Surana is very Ferelden when it comes to Timur.

* * *

 


	6. Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An evening in the tavern.  
> This was partly inspired by a song in DAI...

* * *

**CHAPTER 6 – Smoke**

* * *

Leliana coaxed the senior members of the Inquisition into joining them at the tavern after the evening meal that night. Cullen showed up for such informal gatherings erratically, though certainly far more enthusiastically than his coerced appearances at more formal events. It was ordinary enough, however, that Varric simply shoved a tankard of ale at him without comment beyond “Hey, Curly!” when he found most of the others already gathered in the corner of the first floor that Cadash favored. Surana was still missing, but there was a low bench turned sideways between Leliana and an empty chair, clearly intended for the Warden and Timur. Cullen nodded his thanks to Varric silently as he took the tankard and claimed a chair next to Cassandra.

Josephine was still in a bit of a dither about the sudden arrival of such a notable figure, but Leliana was speaking to her in a low voice, laughing softly. “Josie, just relax. I don’t know that she’d be upset at quarters in the hayloft as long as Timur was with her, and if you’d ever tasted King Alistair’s cooking, you’d know she’s remarkably easy to please. You may find yourself dealing with an irate noble or two who still has icicles dripping from his nose, however.”

Iron Bull, who was apparently one of the few who hadn’t yet met the Warden, caught that last part. “This mage uses her magic casually on people?”

Snorting, the spymaster shook her head. “Not casually. Just on people who think all elves or even commoners are…available.” The mercenary glowered a little, as did Krem. “I understand the senior Wardens would intentionally _not_ warn new recruits about the Warden Commander's reactions to anyone taking liberties with anyone. Someone who overstepped so far that they ended up with icicles dripping from them was watched carefully within Vigil’s Keep and never allowed outside the Keep unless a senior Warden was with the squad to supervise.” She shrugged. “The Wardens recruit people _because_ they’re dangerous, not because they’re saints, and she has always been aware that the need to protect people can include protecting people _from_ her Wardens.” Bull looked thoughtful, exchanging an indecipherable nod with Krem.

Cadash propped her elbows on the arms of her chair, eyes flitting between Leliana and Cullen. “I have to admit that she was not at all what I expected. Most of the mages with the Inquisition are very uncomfortable around the Templars, even with ordinary soldiers and can be downright stuffy at times, but when we were doing a walk around this afternoon, I took her through the barracks.” The dwarf grinned mischievously. “We walked in as one of the off-duty soldiers was reaching the punchline of a rather raunchy joke, and they all broke off and jumped up, looking horrified when they realized who had walked in. Surana just raised an eyebrow at the woman telling the joke and delivered the punchline herself without missing a beat.” She winked at Bull then raised an eyebrow at Leliana. “I’m not certain most of them even remembered she was a mage after that.”

Somehow that fit the older, cynical Surana he’d spoken to on the wall above the garden that morning, but was still an uncomfortable reminder of how little he really knew about her. Though try as he might, he couldn’t remember ever hearing her telling _any_ joke while an apprentice, much less a dirty joke. Just at that moment, they heard the murmur of voices on the stairs and the click of dog nails on wood, and Surana came round the corner, intent on something Dorian was saying. Timur was pressed to her other leg, Surana’s hand resting on his head as usual, and for just a moment, Cullen was reminded of a blind warrior he’d once seen as a child, guided by his old mabari. He hadn’t really seen Timur in motion earlier, and he realized the mabari was almost as thin as the warden. The mages looked up when the group fell silent, watching them approach. Surana politely nodded greetings, seemingly undisturbed by their scrutiny, then led Timur to the bench left for him before sitting down between him and Cadash. Dorian went to sit next to Iron Bull who the Warden mage regarded curiously but politely before raising a questioning eyebrow at Josephine.

“Oh! Inquisitor, may I introduce the Iron Bull, leader of Bull’s Chargers, and his second in command, Cremisius Aclassi? This is Warden Commander Arisha Surana, the Hero of Ferelden.” Surana nodded her head in acknowledgement of the introduction, though Cullen caught the irritated twitch of her lips at the addition of the title, or possibly just at the relish with which Josephine said it caused her irritation. “Oh, and her mabari friend, Timur.” That trace of irritation eased as the ambassador remembered to include Timur this time.

“Most people just call me Bull and him Krem. So, you’re the Warden who shoved a sword through an archdemon’s head, are you? Wish I could have been there for _that_ fight.”

Cadash snorted. “Considering how you react to dragons, it’s probably just as well. I don’t want to imagine how you’d react to an archdemon. ‘Taarsidath-an halsaam!’” There were a couple of snickers, and several people abruptly burying their faces in their drinks, a reaction which obviously intrigued Surana.

“Boss, I’m qunari, do you think a give a shit about what you think of that? There’s nothing in the world like a dragon to get the blood pumping.” He flexed his shoulders, grinning wickedly.

Varric passed Surana a stein of ale, smirking openly at her fascination with Bull. “Leliana warned me you were nothing like Sten, but I’m reminded that she has a gift for understatement.” The elven woman toasted Bull with the stein then took a long deep drink, draining almost half of it at one shot. “Maker, I’ve missed that.”

“Wot, there’s no ale west of Orlais?” Sera glanced up from arrow she was working on.

“I don’t fancy what can happen if you get drunk while alone in a strange tavern; besides, most of the time, Timur wasn’t welcome.” She rested her free hand on the mabari’s affectionately.

Bull was openly appraising her now in more than one way, and Cullen had to stop himself from glaring at the mercenary. He reminded himself that he not only was no longer responsible for her, she was also obviously quite capable of dealing with unwelcome, and presumably welcome, attention. “Sten, so you knew a qunari in the Antaam then? How did a Ferelden mage, even a Warden, meet him?”

“We found him just after the massacre at Ostagar, and he stayed with us until the archdemon was dead.” She exchanged a more relaxed grin with Leliana at the memory. “Sten probably didn’t say much about it when he got back because I left him in command of the forces at the gates of Denerim. He didn’t exactly approve of me choosing to take a mabari over him, even if he admired Timur, but I had to leave someone with command experience. I certainly wasn’t going to trust _Oghren_ with it, and I think Sten understood that, even if he’d have preferred to be in on the fight with the archdemon.” The elf raised an eyebrow at Bull. “I do have to say I can’t imagine Sten talking like you in a hundred years.”

“That’s because he was Antaam. Sometimes I think they amputate their sense of humor as a promotion ritual.”

She laughed, taking another long drink from the stein, to the approval of Varric and Sera. “Probably. He _did_ have a sense of humor, it was just subtle. I’m certain I never heard him laugh though.”

Leliana chuckled, scratching Timur’s ears from his other side. “Definitely not at Alistair’s jokes. But the way he got Morrigan the one time!”

Surana choked on her ale, then glared at the red-head who had a mischievous expression. “Maker’s breath, don’t do that when I’m drinking, Nightingale! I had almost forgotten about that, and I still think she half believed him.” She sighed, staring down into the stein. “Fenedhis, my timing is bad, that’s the closest I’ve been to seeing her in almost a decade. I’m sorry I missed the chance to meet Kieran.”

Cadash studied her curiously. “I’d almost forgotten that she was with you during the Blight. She’s an…interesting person, but I rather liked her.”

“She was a good friend.” Surana spoke firmly, giving Leliana a stern look. “You just had to be willing to take the time to understand her, then explain why you did things in a way she could understand.” She seemed surprised when Leliana didn’t argue, rather nodding thoughtfully. The Warden turned to Cadash. “And you also met…Flemeth.”

“I met someone, anyway.” Cadash grimaced. “Someone who is now running around with the remnants of two ancient…somethings inside her.”

Arisha bit her lip, obviously deep in thought for a moment, then Timur leaned into her and made a little whuffling sound. She chuckled, stroking his head. “But that something is no longer in Kieran, thank the Maker. I wonder if Morrigan is pleased or not?”

Leliana frowned, “I think a better question is where that child came by that remnant of something?” Cullen had been watching Surana silently (how quickly old habits fall back in place!) and noticed a moment of something flash across her face, almost…guilt? He had studied her expressions as an apprentice when she struggled with a problem, more enrapt in watching than he should have been, he knew, but there was no trace of that intent frown or even eager curiosity. She’d always hated it when she didn’t understand something, and he was willing to wager _that_ hadn’t changed. So if she wasn’t struggling toward an answer, that meant…she already knew the answer? But if she had an answer, why would she keep it from one of her few close friends?

At that moment, blue-grey eyes locked with his, and there was something in them, a recognition followed by a plea. _So she does know something about Kieran_. He moved his head just slightly in assent at her apparent plea for silence, but resolved to have a conversation in private with her about that. Instead, he obliged by shifting the conversation in a direction that he suspected would surprise even her but would effectively distract from what was clearly a risky topic. “Warden Commander, how has that bet progressed?”

Surana blinked in surprise even as he’d expected, then chuckled, a little of the tension flowing out of her. “Oh, that. I didn’t even make it out of the Great Hall after the noon meal, Commander.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow curiously. “You mentioned that at noon, just what kind of bet was this? I was right behind you and overheard your _conversation_ with that noble.”

“Conversation, is that what it’s called now?” Surana rolled her eyes. “I told the commander that I’d wager ten gold sovereigns that at least three nobles would proposition me before midnight.” Cassandra choked on her ale and spluttered while Varric and Sera simply gaped, slow grins spreading across their faces. Josephine fluttered, however, until Leliana patted her soothingly on her arm.

“Don’t worry, Josie, she promised not to freeze them as long as they kept their hands to themselves.”

“Since there are at least four men and two women who have _not_ been frozen, though several of them may feel like as if their hair was singed…” Surana shrugged. “Fenedhis, it’s always like that. It’s the hero they want to bed, for bragging rights.”

Sera scowled suspiciously. “I thought you said you wasn’t elfie. That word you keep using sounds elfie to me.”

Surana smothered a laugh with her free hand, her other hand pausing on Timur’s shoulder. “I don’t speak Elvhen, if that’s what you’re worried about. I recruited two or three Dalish over the years, and one of them had a smaller stick up his arse than most of them.” This time it was Josephine caught with her tankard to her lips, coughing uncontrollably. “He taught me to curse and insult someone in Elvhen and Fenedhis is the one I use in polite company.” She lowered her hand, though her lips were still twitching.

“You’re having me on. The bloody Hero of Ferelden, cursing in Elvhen, really?”

“Really.” She just grinned at the younger woman. “Warden recruits are mostly unwilling, and I had to get their respect. Being able to out-curse them in a dozen languages helped, especially since I don’t _look_ dangerous.” Surana circled her upper arm with her thumb and middle finger to emphasize the lack of obvious muscle. “I could curse in Tevinter, if you prefer,” She winked at Dorian.

“So you aren’t friendly with the Dalish?” The warden seemed a little surprised that Varric was the one who asked the question, but just rolled her eyes.

“The first Dalish I met called me a ‘flat ear,’ among other things, so not really. Oh, there’s a keeper I’m friendly with, and a couple of them were decent sorts, but a few of the others kept insulting me in Dalish even _after_ we saved their clan from a feud with werewolves. Frankly, if I hadn’t needed their hunters to help face the blight, I’d have said fuck them and left them to the werewolves. So no, I’m not a big fan of the Dalish.”

Varric opened his mouth as if to add something, but at that moment Cadash sat up looking toward the stairs, a huge grin on her face. “Rock licker, it’s about time you got here!”

“Woman, some of us have to _work_ instead of sitting on our arses yakking.” A bearded human man was approaching the group, scowling fiercely at the Inquisitor.

“Hah! Like you need an excuse to skip out on something, you crotchety old bear, though you’d think I was asking you to kiss sodding noble's arse or something.” Surana was observing the verbal battle, quickly glancing around the group to measure their amusement at the pair. The dark man stopped in front of the Inquisitor’s chair, arms crossed on his chest, glaring down at her.

“Not my fault if you don’t send a messenger until _after_ I start a batch of deathroot extract, unless you want me to throw out forty or fifty gold sovereigns worth of ingredients, your worship.” The Inquisitor stood up on the footrest to her chair, grabbing the man’s beard so she could drag his face to hers.

“Call me ‘your worship’ again, and you’ll wake up to a bucket of ice water tomorrow. Old bear, I sent that sodding messenger right after the noon meal. If you didn’t growl at them, they wouldn’t put off delivering messages to your workroom for hours.” She planted a firm but brief kiss on his lips, fingers laced into his beard.

He simply grunted, then tilted her chin up for a much more satisfying kiss, ignoring loud laughs and comments from Iron Bull and Sera. “It keeps them from bothering me unless it’s important, arse.”

“Boss, I’ve gotta ask, why do you always hold onto him by the beard like that?”

She winked around the alchemist at Bull. “Bull, any dwarven woman will tell you that the best way to make sure you have a man’s attention is to keep your hands on his…beard.” Josephine coughed politely over the snickers and guffaws at her innuendo, and the Inquisitor abruptly let go of Adan to shrug apologetically to Surana. “Sorry. Commander, this is our chief alchemist and apothecary, Adan. Adan, this is the Warden, Arisha Surana, and her friend, Timur.”

The alchemist straightened and bowed slightly to Surana before slowly offering his hand, palm up, to Timur to sniff. “Pleased to meet you both. And don’t believe a word her worship here says about me.”

Surana chuckled, and Cullen noticed that, whatever she thought of the lovers’ odd way of showing affection, she definitely approved of the easy way they both included Timur in the introduction. “So you aren’t the best alchemist in Ferelden?”

Varric, in charge of the pitchers and bottles as usual, snickered as he passed a mug of cider to the alchemist who took the chair on the other side of Cadash at exactly eyelevel to the dwarven woman. “Hah! If she said that, she’s gone soft on me.”

The conversation wandered into more general territory, less direct fixed on the Warden who began to relax slowly. Cullen was surprised by how tense she had seemed to be, but he found himself relaxing as she did, enjoying the ale Varric was dispensing. After a while, though, Maryden’s voice penetrated to the group on the first floor, and Timur’s head riveted, attracting Surana’s attention away from the conversations. Timur met his Warden’s eyes, and when he stood, she stood with him, walking toward the stairs silently. As the noise in their corner faded, curious about what had attracted the pair’s attention, they realized silence was spreading on the ground floor as well as the pair slowly descended the stairs. Most of the group, including Cullen, moved curiously to the railing as the words of “Andraste’s Mabari” became clearer in the silence.

Every time he’d seen Warden Surana all day, her behavior was so different from the young apprentice Surana, and changed so constantly he’d gotten a sense of someone performing, not to deceive but more like an actor playing the roles required. But if she was performing now, her performance was for no one except Timur as he turned at the bottom of the stairs, intent on the singer. Cullen leaned on the banister next to Leliana to watch as Timur, Surana’s hand on his shoulder, stopped directly in front of Maryden to sit and listen in a pose eerily like those of the mabari statues in Haven. Once he was seated, Surana moved back a few steps toward the bar with an odd smile of affection, leaving him alone in front of the singer, a rapt audience of one haloed in a pool of flickering light and smoke from the fireplace. A low murmur spread around the tavern, even the non-Fereldens struck by the dignity of the old warrior who clearly understood who the song was about.

Maryden brought her mournful song to a conclusion in an oddly reverent silence riveted on the singer and her mabari audience, then Timur bowed his head to her in dignified appreciation of the song. Before anyone else could move, however, Maryden transitioned into another song, this one merry instead of melancholy, and Cullen heard Leliana inhale sharply at his side as she, at least, recognized the Fereldan tune. Timur’s ear’s flicked forward in surprise when it became clear that the new song was about a mabari and his warden, and Cullen watched a fond grin spread across Surana’s face at the humorous chorus about a cook scolding a guilty warden whose dinner had gone missing. She must have made some sound because Timur’s ears twitched, and he briefly met his partner’s eyes before giving the singer his full attention once again. But the verses clearly told the Battle of Denerim, a mabari fiercely defending his warden from the leaders of the darkspawn horde as they fought their way to the final battle, the two of them leading the charge against the archdemon, side by side. When the archdemon lay dead and the warden lay unconscious, it was her mabari who stood over her to guard her from the last fleeing darkspawn until a healer was found. In the final chorus, the singer caught the unrepentant warden feeding her dinner to her mabari friend.

As the song ended, the silence was broken by loud cheers. Timur looked around for Surana who moved back to his side, and, her hand on his shoulder, he walked forward to Maryden, giving her offered hand a brief lick in greeting and thanks while Surana spoke softly to the bard, eyes bright with some emotion Cullen couldn’t quite identify but which looked very much like gratitude. He met Leliana’s eyes questioningly, but she shrugged in denial.

“It isn’t one of mine, though I’ve heard it a few times. Whoever wrote it got an account from someone who was there, however, because the details are right.”

Iron Bull was on the other side of Leliana, his face thoughtful. “So that’s why those two look like she never moves without that mabari in reach. He’s her guardian.”

“And her friend. I think he’s the only one she entirely trusts.” Leliana sighed. “And the only one who knows her secrets.”

* * *

**Afterword**

* * *

I will never believe that the Fereldens wouldn’t write at least one song with a heavy dose of Dog from DAO as a hero of the Blight. I just wish I had the talent to write the song itself…

Adan is obviously a non-canon romance, but he was a much better fit for this Cadash than anyone available.


	7. Soap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wet mabari and mages

* * *

 Cullen was making his inspections again the next morning when he came round a corner of the courtyard near the stables to find Leliana sitting on a bench, cheerfully observing as Surana bathed a rather dejected mabari. Two of Leliana’s people lurked nearby, subtly there to ensure no one disturbed the women uninvited, but Leliana caught sight of him hesitating and waved him over as she offered a tidbit to Timur.

Surana had set aside her leather armor for sandals and well-worn pants and two shirts, all of which were soaked, but he was surprised to realize that the clothing was so worn it was in tatters, despite several obvious, neatly executed repairs. In fact, her clothing was the former spymaster’s current topic of conversation.

“Really, Arisha, was there no place to get some new clothes? Surely you didn’t travel across Orlais in such rags?” The mage was currently working soap into a lather on the mabari’s back, removing every trace of kaddis.

“Of course not, Nightingale.” She nodded politely to Cullen who remained silent rather than enter _that_ particular conversation but kept her attention on her task. Leliana made room for him on the bench next to the bowl of tidbits, balls of ground meat mixed with bread dough and fried. “I didn’t take much clothing to begin with since we were traveling with only one pack animal, just pants and shirts to wear under my armor, but I kept these when your people helped me get a couple of new sets, and I’d rather get these dirty than my new clothes.”

Leliana sniffed delicately. “All you bought were a couple of plain shirts and pants to wear under your armor? Really, Arisha, you used to enjoy beautiful clothes, what happened to your sense of taste?” Surana chuckled, her attention mostly on Timur who was now inspecting the ex-Templar mournfully, then the bowl next to him. Obediently, he offered one of the small fried balls to Timur who wolfed it down before woofing softly at Cullen in thanks, turning his mournful gaze back on Leliana to begin the same routine with her.

“My sense of taste got misplaced when I discovered that washing pretty clothes in a stream and beating them on a rock left them looking worse than plain clothes.” She grimaced at Leliana then began lathering Timur’s front legs, checking his paws carefully, and Cullen caught a whiff of the soap, a rich fresh scent that made him think of old forests and that seemed to stir a memory in him. “However, you’ll be relieved to know I let them take me to one of your _tailors_ and had one dress made because sooner or later I’ll have to make some sort of formal appearance. Even if I could get to them, the things I left at Vigil’s Keep wouldn’t fit now. She complained bitterly that I was a stodgy Ferelden with no taste because I insisted on simple and practical until I pointed out that I am a _mage_ and that sometimes means I end up in fights I didn’t plan for. Besides, I like my leather; it suits the Warden Surana.”

Leliana rolled her eyes and seemed prepared to argue, but Cullen decided Surana might appreciate a distraction. “That soap you’re using, the scent is familiar, but I can’t think what it is?”

“This? It’s scented with storm pine resin.” When he shook his head in incomprehension, she chuckled, beginning to rinse the mabari by slowly pouring pans of warm water over him. “There’s a pine tree that grows on the Storm Coast, twisted and stunted but tough enough to survive the pounding from sea storms, that produces a lot of resin. Some of the local fishermen and herdsmen collect it to sell for a bit of extra cash. It’s always been one of my favorite scents, but I haven’t been able to get any for over a year.” Timur sneezed in disgust, then accepted another tidbit from Leliana while Surana laughed softly, scratching his ears. “I told you, if you’re going to insist on sleeping on my bed with me, you can’t smell like you’ve been rolling in used hay or even like kaddis. At least I don’t ask you to smell like flowers.” The mabari grumbled, then gave Cullen a tragic look, ears drooping, and he responded to the obvious plea with another fried treat. “Besides, this gives you an excuse to convince people to feed you.”

Cullen was suddenly struck by a memory and _knew_ why the soap smelled familiar. “Is that what you used when you were at Kinloch?” Both women paused and looked at him questioningly. “It’s just that it seems familiar, but I know I remember that scent from before I went to Kirkwall, and I can’t remember smelling it while I was in Templar training. You…never used rose or violet soap, did you?”

Timur’s begging claimed Leliana’s attention, but Surana eyed him evenly, almost sympathetically, and he hoped his face hadn’t reddened when he realized she had at least a vague guess that his question held some urgency to him. “One of the tranquil made this at Kinloch, yes, and since it wasn’t popular, at least not with the girls and women, there was always plenty for me. And no, violets make me sneeze, and nothing made with roses was _ever_ left over for the apprentices.” To his relief, she didn’t seem disturbed by his question and in fact simply raised an eyebrow as if to ask if she’d told him what he needed to know. But now he knew one of the reasons why he had always unconsciously recognized that the desire demon wasn’t her, though it wasn’t the only reason; some part of him knew what she should smell like. The mage seemed to see the relief in his face, then abruptly grabbed Timur by the collar, distracted when he pulled himself to stand.

“Timur!” The mabari’s ears drooped and he met her eyes guiltily. “If you want to shake, you will walk at _least_ ten feet away to do it, and not toward the merchants. When you’ve had a good shake, come back and I’ll rub you down, and you can have some more to eat.”

Obediently but dejectedly, he walked toward the pile of rubble as Surana’s eyes followed him, laughing softly. “That would have been a fine way for him to thank the two of you for pampering him.” The mabari shook thoroughly, his legs braced, but returned her affectionate look with disgust as he returned to the trio. Surana herself fed him a couple of the tidbits before beginning to dry him, shrugging at Leliana’s amusement. “He needs feeding up a little and some rest.”

“So do you, dear.”

Surana shrugged Leliana’s anxiety off. “I’m mostly concerned for Timur. I admit I’m glad your Inquisitor is willing to give me some time here at Skyhold before asking me to go out into the field, though, even if she is short two mages already.” She reached for a dry towel, catching Cullen’s eye. “I hoped I’d get a chance to talk to you about that, Commander. You still have a number of mages who are part of the Inquisition, but no one with much experience in evaluating their individual abilities and potential or with integrating them with other forces. I know there are Templars here, but isn’t most of their training, and yours, in evaluating how to deal with a rogue mage rather than working _with_ them?”

Cullen nodded silently, curious but beginning to guess where her conversation was going.

“I know Dorian’s here, and I’m impressed with him, but he’s still not that familiar with the ways magic is used in southern Thedas. More, if he began training or leading mage forces, there are any number of people who will panic just because he’s Tevinter trained.” She quietly fed Timur another of the fried balls before inspecting his ears carefully.

Leliana piped up shrewdly. “You, however,…”

The elf began stacking the pans and damp towels, then sat down unconcernedly on the wet ground with her arm around the almost-dry mabari, studying Cullen warily. “Exactly. I have that experience, I’m trained in the South, the mages won’t argue with me, at least not too much, and while my open support of the Inquisition may alarm a few people, most people will regard it as only logical.” She scratched Timur behind the ears almost absent-mindedly as she gauged his reaction. “I’m comfortable working with Templars, and you _need_ a mage-Templar pairing sometimes, Commander, especially while you’re still cleaning up Venatori and Red Templars. Cadash and I discussed the idea this morning, and her suggestion is that I spend several weeks helping to integrate the mages better which will also give Timur and me time to rest. I told her I wouldn’t consider it, though, unless you not only agreed, but actively supported the idea because it will mean working with you and your senior officers, and there’s no point in even trying if people resist what I’m doing.”

Cullen considered the idea but had to admit it would solve several problems for him. While the mages generally respected him and cooperated, there were still moments of wariness, and she was also right that he tended to think first of how to control mages rather than how to deploy them. “Truthfully, only Grey Wardens _have_ much experience in integrating mages with non-mages in combat, at least outside of Tevinter, and none of the senior Grey Wardens in Orlais survived Adamant. The only other person who might have that experience is Grand Enchanter Fiona, and no one would accept her even if she offered.”

Surana snorted. “And they shouldn’t.” She chewed her lip, less remote than she had been the previous day, though it would take an exceptional performer to project proud remoteness while wearing rags and sitting in a puddle on the ground with her arm around a damp mabari. “Fiona was a disastrous choice as Grand Enchanter exactly because she _had_ been a Warden.” With that unexpected remark, she rose abruptly, brushing grass from her clothes. “Think about the idea overnight at least, Commander. And I’m getting chilled sitting here in wet clothes. I left my dry clothes and armor in the hayloft since _someone_ wouldn’t let me walk through the keep in these.” She grinned almost impishly at Leliana. “If one of you would keep Timur company while I make myself presentable enough to be paraded around?” The elf nodded imperceptibly at the bowl of treats.

“Of course.” The two friends watched her disappear through the door of the stables, then Cullen felt Leliana’s eyes on him briefly before she began scratching Timur behind the ears, offering him one of the tidbits from the bowl.

“You watch her like you’re not sure you know her, Cullen.”

“I’m not sure I do, or ever did. She _looks_ the same, just older and very thin; when she speaks, it’s her voice, but everything she says seems like another person from the girl I remember.”

Timur took another fried treat from Leliana, but instead of begging from Cullen next, he rested his head in Leliana’s lap. She caressed the mabari’s greying head, her voice too low for the guards nearby to hear. “But the girl you knew had not survived the Joining, found herself leading soldiers in an endless fight that has consumed her. The apprentice hadn’t been betrayed at Ostagar, by Greagoir, by Irving, by her best friend.” Cullen met her blue eyes, startled to discover the cynicism in them. “Yes, we met Jowan while trying to free Redcliffe; she told me a few days later how she came to be a Grey Warden.”

“I’d like to think once he’d had time to cool down that Knight-Commander Greagoir wouldn’t have punished her.” Cullen rubbed his neck, feeling the knots of tension forming. “But now I’m not so sure.”

Timur shifted his head in Leliana’s lap to fix Cullen with his stare. “She changed during the blight, or I should say she changed herself to be what was needed, but during her first year at Vigil’s Keep, the changes in her worried me. One night when I was visiting Arisha at Vigil’s Keep, not long before Dorotea became Divine, we shut ourselves into the study and I got her drunk.” She shrugged at the crudeness of her approach. “Sometimes when she drinks, she talks. Or did. All I could get out of her was that she blamed herself for something that happened and she was afraid. Afraid to let anyone close to her again.”

Cullen thought silently for a few moments, uncomfortably aware of Timur’s intent stare. “She mentioned, I mean…was it because of Alistair?”

She didn’t seem surprised that he was aware of that relationship. “No, she’d always known he’d have to be king, I think, and by the time he and Anora were married, her thoughts were on rebuilding the Wardens. Well, that and avoiding Anora. Something else happened, and I think if she could have kept even this old warrior away after that, she would have.” Timur growled softly in denial, and Leliana scratched his ears. “ _He_ probably knows the truth, but even I haven’t thought of a way to get information from a mabari yet.”

* * *

**Afterword**

* * *

Memory and scent are often unconsciously tied together...


	8. Mulled Cider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tense conversation and an agreement

* * *

Shortly after his officers left with their orders the next day, Cullen heard the click of a large dog’s nails on stone just outside the open door. That was enough warning to put his pen into the inkwell and wipe the traces of ink from his hand before Surana and Timur entered slowly. Timur was pressed against her thigh, her hand lightly resting on the mabari’s head in a pose as habitual as the ex-Templar’s hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Politely, he rose to greet both of them, Timur sniffing his hand politely and returning his greeting with a brief wag of his tail before Surana took the chair Cullen offered. With a contented sigh, the mabari lay down on her feet as Cullen took his seat on the other side of the desk.

“Is there something I can do for you, Warden-Commander?” Other than those few minutes when she had bathed Timur, he’d spoken very little to her yesterday; even at meals, he’d simply listened while others claimed her attention. But by the time she appeared at the noon meal, the Warden had exchanged her traditional mage’s staff for a rather exotic looking light sword that she wore with unconscious familiarity. Yet another strangeness about her that needed an answer.

“The Inquisitor and Leliana are in a meeting with Josephine and some Chantry representatives who aren’t, as you might imagine, enthusiastic about including a mage, even me, in private discussions about Chantry business. Not that I’m not relieved to be able to avoid it.” There was a touch of a smile on her lips, inviting him to share in her sense of reprieve. “I thought I’d use the free moment to ask if you’d thought over my proposal to work with your mages.” Some of her wariness from the first day had returned, and her appearance was again meticulously exacting in a way that he suspected was intended to discourage people from approaching her. “Or at least give you the chance to ask any questions you may have had since then.”

“Not really. My first reaction is that your help would be Maker-sent, but I haven’t had time to feel out all of my officers, particularly the Templars and ex-Templars who joined us. Did I understand correctly that you want to pair mages with Templars and train them to work as a team?” They could hear the sounds of laughter from the courtyard where the merchants displayed their wares through the open door, and the aroma of hot spiced cider someone was mulling to vend.

“Yes, or at least I hope it can be done. First I’d need to evaluate the mages and get to know the Templars to see who might work well together, then once I had at least a couple of working teams, try to train them to work with units of soldiers. That will mean picking and preparing officers for those units carefully because neither mages and Templars will tolerate condescension or being treated as expendable.”

Cullen leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him as he thought. “You have more in mind than just providing support to units who are hunting Venatori and rogue Templars, don’t you?” He caught a flash of surprise that she covered quickly, continuing briskly.

“Truthfully, yes. Most mages aren’t going to return tamely to the old circles. Once people have a taste of freedom, however harsh, very few are going to accept imprisonment without resisting, and mages can do a lot of resisting. You know better than I that Leliana has no plans to try that either. However it’s just as obvious that we need some means of dealing with rogue mages and abominations and some means of supervising apprentice mages until it’s clear that they can handle their powers. If Templars have sole power to police mages, we go back to the old system with all its abuses, but harsher since that’s the only way to force mages back. If mages are left to police themselves alone, we get another Tevinter…” The mage-warden rolled her eyes in disgust, to his surprise.

“You’ve been talking to Cadash.” Surana raised an eyebrow calmly at his almost-accusation.

“Yes, but it’s something I’ve thought about for years. As far as I know, no one’s seriously attempted a compromise between the two extremes of policing mages: Templars and mages working together to deal with rogue mages on relatively equal footing and perhaps investigating charges of abuses as well.”

“Cadash asked me about that once, and I don’t remember any records of it being tried. The obstacles, though…”

She laughed humorlessly. “Yes. The mage-Templar war and the breach have presented us with a unique moment, an opportunity to try this, but also created even more antipathy between the two groups. And many of the most moderate people from both groups were lost at the conclave. But what we _need_ are Templars who respect at least some mages and trust them and mages who respect some Templars and are willing to trust them in return. I think those who joined the Inquisition and have chosen to stay on are likely to be people who are willing to look beyond just their own concerns and see the potential of collaboration.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, unconsciously trying to relieve the tension. “I think many of them would agree in principal, but actually getting them to extend the trust far enough to really begin to rely on each other... Well, there are a few Templars and ex-Templars who come to mind who might work, one in particular…”

Her lips curved into a slight smile. “Good, you’re beginning to see the possibilities. I believe I can deliver the mages’ cooperation; for the moment, they’re still so awed to have the _Hero of Ferelden_ here,” he was startled at the level of irony in the way the woman said that title, “that most of them will jump at the chance to work with me. Of course, they haven’t yet _worked_ with me.” The smile grew, became almost feral. “Your Templars may be almost as shocked, but I don’t give a shit as long as it gets them to do their best and keeps people alive. I’m not ‘a delicate flower,’ Commander, and I’m perfectly willing to push them almost to breaking, because if there is someone who’ll fall apart in the field, mage or Templar, it’s better we know now before lives depend on them. If they haven’t called me a bitch, I haven’t pushed them hard enough.”

Cullen was unable to stop himself from staring at her, hand frozen on his neck, and Timur rose to rest his head in Arisha’s lap where her hands began unconsciously scratching his ears, both warily watching the ex-Templar.

“Is there a problem, Commander?” While she didn’t raise her voice, there was an edge of anger in the quiet question, and he pulled his hand down from his neck to clench it on the arm of his chair.

“It’s just you’re nothing like the apprentice I knew; it’s like you’re playing a role all of the time.” He finally admitted what had been on his mind since she’d arrived and Surana shrugged unconcernedly.

“Commander, the Circles forced mages who didn’t want to be made tranquil to play roles, surely you realize that by now? It took me less than two months after I left Kinloch before I realized how much I despised pretending to be meek and harmless, pretending I wasn’t a _person_. How much I’d hated being watched day and night for the slightest slip.” Cullen felt his face redden at her bitterness when he recalled how closely _he_ in particular had watched her, and she glanced up from stroking Timur, showing no reaction to his embarrassment. “No, I don’t mean you; you never made my skin crawl, made me want to find someplace to hide and never come out. You were honorable, and it’s a sodding good thing too, because if you hadn’t been, you could have manipulated me quite easily.”

Cullen swallowed hard at that admission, hoping his flush had faded. “Then. Not now.” She sighed, visibly letting go of her anger. “I think we need to clear the air a little, Commander. The way you’ve been watching me for two days, like you were expecting some noble’s adorable little lap dog and instead discovered a wolf in your house.” Timur licked her hand, and the elf glanced down at him affectionately. “I’d rather think of myself as a mabari, though I admit that may be pride speaking, but I _am_ a bitch and I’m dangerous. Well-behaved sheep don’t get things done; flocks are guarded by dogs who are only a step away from being wolves themselves.” Pale blue-grey eyes met Cullen’s coolly as he tried not to squirm. “Lap dogs are cute but not much use when assassins are coming through the window.”

The three sat in silence for a minute that seemed to stretch out, her hand stroking Timur as the elf watched chagrin chased by anger cross his face. Gradually, he admitted to himself that she was right about the way he’d been watching her, but even then, he couldn’t bring himself to speak and the woman eventually continued quietly. “I don’t mind being watched; if it’s admiring rather than simply leering, and the person doesn’t act like I should be falling at their feet, I admit I rather enjoy it. It’s being watched like I’m two seconds from turning into an abomination that I detest. I’m not meek, I’m not polite, and there are a lot of dead darkspawn, among other creatures, who can attest to just how harmless I’m not. Yes, I play roles when I need to, to protect myself or to get things done, but those roles have been the mage, the Warden, the _hero_ that everyone else needed me to be, because people don’t want Arisha Surana herself. And my mistakes have been misjudgments, not malicious.”

Her mention of mistakes and misjudgments led to another question that had nagged at him since the conversation in the tavern, and it slipped out before he realized he was going to ask. “What is it you know about Morrigan’s son, Warden-Commander?”

She didn’t seem particularly surprised at the question, simply sighing. “Ah. Yes, I knew about her son, and yes, I even know a little about what he carried in him. I’ve heard Cadash’s story about the meeting with Flemeth; it’s no surprise to _me_ that Morrigan has been a good mother, even if her mothering may be more wolf bitch than ewe. I spent over a year with her, and I believe I know her better than anyone except Flemeth and I _trust_ her. I owe her my life, but more, I owe her Alistair’s, even if he’ll never admit that.” Surana stood, walking toward the doorway to stand looking out, Timur pressed against her thigh. “The only other thing I’m willing to say on the subject is I made a decision once and I still stand by that decision. Commander, I’m a _Grey_ _Warden_ , we’re not heroes riding into battle with the light of the Maker illuminating us; every concern except stopping darkspawn is secondary. I should think Clarel was proof enough of that.”

Surana was unmoving, staring outward, except for the hand that gently stroked the mabari’s head, and he found himself focusing on it, realizing he’d been looking at the scars on the back of those hands for two days without ever wondering where they’d come from. His eyes slid from her hands to the mabari himself and for once he really examined him. Without the kaddis, lines of lighter colored and white hair crisscrossed the mabari as well, following the lines of dozens of scars on the old warrior. Some detached part of him wondered just how many battles these two had fought together over the years?

“The scars on your hands…” He blurted out the beginning of that question before he realized it, not even certain exactly what he wanted to ask and wondering what about this hard-edged distant woman kept him so unbalanced.

She lifted her free hand so it was in front of her face, inspecting it dispassionately. “One of the hazards of being an arcane warrior; my hands get in the way of blades sometimes.”

“But you were a spirit healer.” He thought Leliana had mentioned something once about an elven school of magic related to the knight enchanters, which explained the sword, perhaps, but not why she was using an elven magical form.

The mage shrugged unconcernedly. “I am, though I rely much more on the other now. My priorities are survival, and I often have all I can do to take care of the serious wounds without worrying about niceties. Healing completely so there aren’t any scars is a luxury, and it isn’t as if anyone cares about my appearance as long as I keep killing darkspawn.” Finally the mage lowered her hand, turning to lean against the door jamb, her feet resting on the opposite side. “Commander, what I really need to know is whether or not you can look at me, talk to me, without comparing me to your memories? Can you treat me as simply a colleague, a fellow warrior like Cassandra?”

Their eyes locked for a minute or two before he nodded slowly, feeling tension knotting his neck. She gave him a brief smile, and he suddenly began to laugh, beginning to unwind like a spring. “You have my word, Warden-Commander, though you’ve become rather unnervingly blunt.” He took a deep breath to release more of the tension, inhaling the scent of mulled cider and grilled sausage while he watched her stroke Timur’s head, those scarred hands surprisingly gentle.

The elf shrugged her thin shoulders, breaking their locked stare almost uncomfortably, staring off at something he couldn’t see in the distance beyond the walls of Skyhold. “I admit I’m finding it more difficult to slip back into the roles everyone wants from me.” For just a moment, all the masks slipped, leaving just a deep exhaustion and pain, and when the words finally came, Surana seemed to speak as much to Timur as to him. “I’ve spent two years searching for a cure that I’m not even certain I want myself, and I have even more doubts about whether it’s a good idea to try to reverse the Joining at all.”

Cullen leaned back, trying to think quickly, uneasy at the level of exhaustion he was glimpsing, and he recalled that Leliana had fussed over her the previous day. “Wouldn’t a cure be a great gift, freeing Wardens of the Calling and letting people return to a normal life after serving for a time?” He wasn’t prepared to ask why she might not want it herself just yet.

“Can they, though?” The mask snapped back into place abruptly, and she was suddenly the committed, disciplined Warden again. “Andraste’s ass, think about what a disaster Fiona has been! She still _thinks_ like a Warden, which means someone who is willing to do whatever it takes and is sometimes so obsessed with a goal that nothing else matters. Wardens are willing to use extreme measures, especially when they’re trying to stop a blight. And that’s how she was able to do something as monumentally stupid as indenturing the mages who’d been fighting for their freedom to a Tevinter magister. Doing drastic things in the short term to fight a blight is one thing; when it’s over, people almost forget the Wardens after a few years. The mages are always there in people’s thoughts and fears. Mages for generations will have to live with the consequences of this war. If we’re lucky, Leliana will be able to soften attitudes a little, but all it takes is one powerful mage going bad. And we all know it will happen because mages are _people_ , with all the same weaknesses of other people.” Timur raised his head and gently took her hand in his mouth, drawing her attention to him. “Can you really unmake a Warden just by reversing the Joining? And that doesn’t even consider how many of the Wardens were conscripted from jails and gallows; can we, in good conscience, turn murderers and rapists loose to try to live a ‘normal’ life?”

Cullen watched the pair, the mabari holding her hand carefully in his mouth and her eyes with his, and the ex-Templar had the odd sensation of watching partners continuing a long-running argument. At least now he was beginning to grasp at least part of why she seemed to have such mixed feelings about returning with a possible cure for the Joining. “You’re more afraid the cure you found is real than that it was a false trail, aren’t you? You’re afraid if the Wardens have a cure, you’ll be responsible for turning loose people who can no longer be trusted.” He could see her biting her lip, her free hand clenched. “Surely you don’t doubt yourself?”

Only silence answered him until the mabari let go of her and whined softly at her. “Not until I heard what Fiona and Clarel did, though I was already debating whether it would be better to limit who could receive it. That just creates more problems because the one thing that binds the Wardens together more tightly than any ordinary army can hope for is the shared knowledge of what awaits us.”

“The Calling.” She nodded in response to his terse answer.

“Limiting who can receive it will weaken or destroy that camaraderie. The power to choose who can live and who will seek the Deep Roads…that’s a very dangerous power, Commander, and Grey Warden leaders are just as grey as the rest. That’s a temptation to abuse of power that frightens me.”

Suddenly she shook herself and straightened from the doorway, taking a cloth from a pouch to clean the hand Timur had held. “I’m usually much better at making decisions and finding solutions, I guess I need rest more than I thought.” Timur shook himself in turn, then sniffed noisily, clearly hinting that the aroma of grilled sausages and mulled cider needed attention, a hint the mage just as clearly recognized because she chuckled softly. “Commander, I believe I’ve just been informed that there are more important things than struggling pointlessly with a conundrum that we don’t yet even know that I’ll have to solve.” She met Cullen’s amber-brown eyes inquisitively. “So, you think you can talk to me now without an expression as if I hit you with a stick every couple of minutes, Commander?”

His laugh was natural, perhaps for the first time since she’d appeared in Skyhold. “Oh, I have no doubt you’ll continue to surprise me, Warden-Commander, but I think you have that effect on most people.”

Surana raised an eyebrow with a confident grin, then silently led Timur out the door.

* * *

 


	9. Sweat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sparring and Knight-Captain Rylen

* * *

 

“Warden-Commander, this is Knight-Captain Rylen. Rylen, this is Warden-Commander Arisha Surana and her friend, Timur.” Cullen very carefully included the mabari, and apparently the Freemarcher had heard the rumors that seemed to seep through the stone of Skyhold because he nodded politely to the mage before offering his hand to Timur to sniff.

“Pleased to meet you both, Warden-Commander.”

“If we’re going to be working together, just Surana.” Cullen noticed she’d registered Timur’s inclusion in the introductions by both of them, and her words to Rylen were warmer than he’d hoped. “You’re from Starkhaven, I think, Knight-Captain?”

“I was Knight-Captain of the Templars there until they all ran off to the hills, barking at the moon.” He managed to surprise a laugh out of her with his irreverent response, and she relaxed her grip on the bag she was carrying. “And Rylen is fine, Surana.”

“I’m beginning to see why Commander Cullen thought we might work well together; with that sense of humor, you aren’t likely to be either awed or frightened by anyone.” Her pale blue-grey eyes met Cullen’s briefly, clearly relieved and approving. “The question is, will I shock you?”

“Well, now, that’s something we’ll have to see, won’t we?” He grinned back at her cockily. “I’m sure you may surprise me, but I doubt you’ll shock me.”

“I’d be careful, Rylen, the Warden-Commander _might_ take that as a challenge.” Cullen was surprised to feel himself relaxing and realized how tense he’d been himself. At least in this, his estimate of Surana had been accurate.

“Now, Commander, why would I do that?” Surana chuckled as she studied the area around the practice ring before selecting a sunny, sheltered spot next to a bench along the armory wall. Unslinging the large bag on her shoulder, she first fished out a worn blanket to spread on the ground next to the bench, and Timur slowly settled himself on it with a sigh of contentment, his head resting on his front paws to watch his warden. She draped her coat on the bench, then slipped on a leather cap that completely concealed her hair and ears before checking all the buckles and straps on her armor. The ease with which she placed guards on the sharp edges of her sword for their practice spoke of a great deal more experience than either man had expected. “Rylen, the Commander did warn you that I would need to use my own sword, at least when we’re using our Templar and mage abilities?”

“Aye, that’s common enough.”

“Yes, but I start from the Arcane Warrior’s ability to channel magic through me with a mish-mash of combat training. That means I won’t always do what you expect, and I’ve spent too much time in combat to be as good as I should be at pulling my blows.” Surana grinned a bit ferally as she stalked toward the ring. “But Commander Cullen assures me that you won’t mind a bruise or two if I forget.”

Rylen’s blue eyes followed her measuringly, his practice sword ready, but his grin was relaxed and much more anticipatory than wary. “I’ll have to thank the Commander later, won’t I?”

Cullen silently sat down on the bench next to Timur to observe, curious about how her fighting style differed from Madame Vivienne’s. She’d asked at the noon meal if he thought one of the Templars he had in mind would be willing to go a few rounds with her so she could get in a workout and perhaps begin getting a feel for how her idea could work from the Templars’ side. When he’d spoken to Rylen about this, he’d emphasized that the Warden-Commander was bluntly honest and detested being fawned on, but not much warning beyond that. So far, that seemed to have been the right choice.

Surana rotated her shoulders as if loosening them up a little, but to Cullen’s experienced eye, she had clearly warmed up before coming to the practice ring, and began to give instructions in a brisk, clipped manner that he associated with experienced trainers. “Alright, Rylen, this first round of practice, we take it easy and just get a feeling for each other. No head shots since I’m not wearing a helm with any face protection. I won’t use any offensive magic at all. No magic-suppression from you until one of us has scored at least three hits. For this match, solid touches count as a hit, grazes don’t. Neither of us should be trying for more than a solid touch; if I hit you hard enough to even sting a little, it’s because I’ve only been in real combat for the past two years.”

Rylen nodded, falling into his stance with his sword ready and shield up, his eyes firmly on hers. “It’s hard to override combat reflexes, they can save your life. Of course, that assumes you’ll land a blow at all.” He grinned challengingly.

“Exactly.” She grinned back and matched his stance, feet placed properly, Cullen noted, but in a lower crouch for her ready position, sword arm back with elbow raised, her sword over her shoulder and pointed slightly downward and angled. She held her empty hand tightly in front of her as if she had a small round shield, but only light leather gloves covered her scarred hands. This wasn’t a technique commonly used by Templars; it was better suited to lighter armor and weapons than their swordsmen preferred, but he’d seen it used quite effectively by specialist troops who needed versatility. Done correctly, someone lighter and weaker could deliver a relatively powerful strike from that position, but without a shield, she also was sacrificing the use of the sword for defense. He wondered if Rylen had made the connection yet between only barring herself from _offensive_ magic and overtly lacking conventional physical defenses…

Normally someone stood by the ring to monitor training matches, but because magic was going to be used, Surana had suggested it would be safest to keep people back from the ring. A few of the soldiers were assigned to keep people from approaching closely, but the curious were beginning to appear on the walls and stairs. From the way people were murmuring with their heads close together and shaking hands in the manner of people closing a deal, Cullen guessed that there was already brisk betting on this sparring match. Both of the people in the ring seemed oblivious to their audience, however, as Surana gave Rylen the signal to begin the round. He was a little concerned by her blithe reassurance that she could stand against any of the Knight-Captain’s magic-suppression, but surely she knew what she was doing. Both combatants circled slowly, and Cullen focused on analyzing Surana’s form, scolding himself silently for being surprised at how smoothly she moved and how carefully her feet were placed, never leaving an opening by putting herself off balance even for a second. He felt certain Rylen had noted this, though his eyes remained fixed on her upper body, clearly analyzing the potential for defense from her “shield” arm and what potential attacks her style implied.

Rylen feinted, but such an obvious feint that Surana didn’t even twitch in response, clearly focused on her own evaluation of his defenses and potential attacks. She used their circling to slowly and subtly reduce the range between them, and Cullen wondered if Rylen had noticed she’d eliminated his reach advantage. About the time the Freemarcher seemed to realize she was almost a foot closer than when they’d started circling, she struck, the sword coming around from the side while her entire body shifted to put her weight behind it. As Rylen struggled to react and block her with his shield, she snapped the blunted sword through from the pivot point of the blow into his hip in a well-placed strike, her sword returned to her shoulder and her “shield” arm back in place before he could recover. While it wasn’t a difficult shot, Surana had made it with the perfection of a master swordsman, putting herself into _her_ ideal range, using her rotation to add to the force and speed of the blow, and had clearly spotted the small flaw in the way Rylen tended to hold his shield a little too high for an opponent her height. The weakness in the shot was that it could leave her shield side open to a strike in return, but her attack had been so well executed that her opponent hadn’t been able to follow up while she was open.

Rylen barked a laugh, obviously chagrined as he nodded. “First blow to you, and well-struck, Surana!” he called out.

“Any bruises?” The woman’s blue-grey eyes gleamed with mischief, more alive than Cullen had seen her until now as if another vibrant woman had stepped out of the grim, cynical shell of the Warden-Commander.

“Hardly a sting; not that I don’t deserve a bruise for falling for that.”

“I may give you one myself later, Rylen, just to remind you.” Cullen called out, and both combatants laughed without letting their eyes shift even a little from their opponent. He stroked the mabari’s head in his lap, then blinked, trying to remember just when Timur had put his head there.

“Maybe he’ll stop thinking ‘mage’ and start thinking ‘swordsman.’ Just because magic helps it along…”

Now it was Rylen’s turn to strike while she was still speaking, and Cullen was unsurprised that the Freemarcher struck at her ‘shield’ arm. She held it so obviously in the proper position for a small targe that both men were unconsciously thinking of Surana as actually having one, and he didn’t think Rylen was at all surprised when his sword was stopped by _something_ , outlined briefly in a faint shimmer of energy. Cullen had almost forgotten the spectators until he heard gasps from the walls at this reminder that this was not a simple sparring match. Rylen and Surana were oblivious, though, as Rylen followed that strike with a rapid blow to her upper leg that got past her mage shield as if he fought someone with such arcane protection every day. “Good! One to you, Rylen.”

“I’ll take it, though in a real fight, I couldn’t have gotten enough force behind that one to actually get through your armor.”

Surana chuckled and didn’t contradict him as they resumed circling. The two closed again in a flurry of blows, and he blocked Surana’s attack aimed at his shoulder, then she again surprised both men by continuing her swing smoothly over her head, around, and snapping back out to land a blow solidly into his side while his shield was still high from the block and a little open. At the same time, he made his own strike at her hip while she was unable to get her magical shield back in place quickly enough due to the momentum of her second blow. She winced as the blow struck her hip, but got clear of him and began circling again. “Two to you, Rylen!”

“And two for you as well, very nice return shot, Surana.”

While some sparring matches were all-out combat with blunted weapons, these two had clearly settled on gauging each other this time, a choice Cullen approved given her unknown abilities. They continued for several minutes, but neither landed another solid blow until Surana surprised them both by abruptly charging Rylen and slamming her mage shield into her opponent’s and forcing it up as her sword struck his hip again, this time with enough force to sting. From the gleam in her eyes, that was intentional, to remind Rylen that he hadn’t corrected that flaw in his defense.

“Three for you, and I deserved that one, Surana.” Then Rylen smited her.

Surana had assured Cullen that she would be able to remain standing through one smite, but he thought she’d been overconfident when she sank to the ground slowly. Ready to stop the match, he started to rise, but Timur gently grabbed his arm in his mouth, holding him, his dark eyes intent. About that time, Surana had reached the ground with her eyes half-closed, propped on one elbow and her sword loose in her grip. Rylen responded by lowering his sword and shield and moving closer. When he was about three feet from her, she suddenly kicked out, catching him behind the knees and knocking him off balance, moving with a speed that brought gasps from the spectators. Rylen hit the ground to find his chest straddled by the mage, her knees pinning his swordarm and shield, and a knife she had produced from somewhere at his throat, her sword out of his reach and ready.

“Yield?” Cullen could tell the Freemarcher was considering an attempt at throwing her off, but his eyes fixed on the dagger and he seemed to have second thoughts.

“Yield.” There were cheers from the spectators as well as catcalls from balconies off the main keep and applause from sections of wall that overlooked the ring as she made the dagger vanish back into her clothing and patted his chest once before gracefully disentangling herself, to Rylen’s sheepish amusement. Timur let go of Cullen’s arm, resting his head once again in the ex-Templar’s lap, and if Cullen hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn the mabari was laughing. Surana got to her feet and offered the man a hand up, then led him out of the ring toward Cullen, wiping sweat from her face with a strip of cloth hanging on the back of her belt. She almost collapsed on the bench, fanning herself.

“Commander, I see Timur decided you can keep him company while I’m busy.”

Cullen simply chuckled, stroking the mabari’s head gently. “That and he kept me from stopping the fight when you collapsed; apparently he recognized that stunt.”

“It isn’t a stunt if it works, Commander.” The mage fixed Rylen with a stern glare. “Really, Knight-Captain, never assume a mage is helpless just because most of her mana is gone. We may not have been trained for combat in the circles, but out here, you learn fast or die when you’re thrown into it.”

“Well, I won’t make the mistake of assuming that your combat skills come just from your magic again. Wait, _most_ of your mana?” Rylen raised an eyebrow inquiringly. “I waited until you were in close enough range to get you solidly, and you should already have been low on mana after all that combat.”

She grinned ferally. “First lesson: there are several ways to keep a small amount of mana in reserve that _I_ know of, and I’m sure there are others. Not something I learned from First-Enchanter Irving, of course, and I don’t plan to teach you how any of them work. The first time a mage is smited is devastating. But if a mage lives to face it again and has the willpower, she can remain standing and continue fighting. Second lesson: I was probably using less mana than you assumed; I have a great deal of practice at conserving it by using only exactly as much as I need. The arcane warrior technique is particularly well suited since you can reduce your reliance on magic by learning to fight without it. I didn’t use any magic to trip you and pin you except a tiny bit to enhance my speed. Third lesson: the most effective mage isn’t always the most powerful one, she’s the one who knows exactly how to use her abilities creatively, the exact right spells to use when, and knows when _not_ to use a spell.”

The lecture was delivered politely but briskly, and with nothing in her tone that might give offense, and Rylen responded with an equally feral grin. “Just as glad to learn those lessons during practice, but you won’t catch me twice with the same thing.”

“I’d better not, I may not be so gentle a second time.”

Cullen chuckled, handing her a skin of water and watched while she took a long drink, then asked. “Who taught you to fight like that? Someone at Vigil’s Keep?”

“I learned the basics during the blight. These days, my trainers answer to ‘your majesty Ferelden,’ ‘arishok,’ and in a few weeks we’ll all be calling one of them ‘most holy.’” She turned and made a gesture at one of the balconies where Josephine was passing something to Leliana. “Hmm, seems I won someone a bet. Oh, and one of my other trainers is currently the guildmaster of the Antiva Crows.” Surana’s bright smile was artificially innocent.

“You said no offensive magic, so what you were doing was…?” Rylen left the question hanging and accepted the skin next, drinking deeply.

“Some defensive, obviously. But mostly channeling my magic to make me stronger or faster at just the right moment. If I’d made that first shot with magic reinforcing it _and_ didn’t pull the blow, I can penetrate dragonhide.” She grimaced, some of the light fading from her face. “In fact, an archdemon’s hide with enough magic reinforcing it.” Abruptly she hooked the cloth back onto her belt and reached for a blunt practice sword and round shield. “Now, Rylen, I won’t be up to any magical combat again for a while, but the Commander said he thought you could also give me some good sparring practice?”

“Fight you without the magical advantage? I’d be delighted. And I promise not to give _you_ any bruises.”

“Hey, you asked for that one!”

* * *

* * *

 I’m taking my own read on how an arcane warrior’s abilities work. Possibly not entirely cannon, but I like the idea of a mage really learning to fight at the same time.


	10. Lightning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surana, Cadash, and some uncomfortable questions

* * *

Cullen didn’t entirely trust the few other ex-Templar officers to remain calm if something _did_ go wrong, which he used to justify setting aside time each day to personally oversee the first round of sparring between Surana and Rylen while magic and Templar abilities were in use. Privately, he admitted to himself that he enjoyed watching the two as they cheerfully pushed each other to the limit. Both had a strongly pragmatic streak as well as a taste for sarcasm that paired well, especially since each clearly loved their sparring practice for its own sake. Most people who trained with weapons did so out of necessity, however dedicated they were to perfecting those skills, but Surana and Rylen were among the far smaller number who delighted in their skill.

That had perhaps been as much a surprise as anything else about his old friend. Mages, at least at Kinloch, had been prohibited from _any_ weapons training and generally had not even been allowed to watch the Templars while they trained; yet here she was, eyes afire and grinning ear to ear as sweat rolled down her face and back every afternoon in a sparring ring as if _this_ was the only life she’d ever known or craved. Cullen shifted his own training to the hour before theirs, walking himself cool then resting on the bench to observe them. Once her magic was spent and they switched roles so Rylen could drill her mercilessly in non-magical sparring, Cullen would return to his office to wash and then return to work. Rylen reported, however, that while her skills were limited, what she knew, she knew almost perfectly, and she was an uncomplainingly attentive student. Cullen had heard a rumor (from an Orlesian officer seemingly disgruntled by the constant presence of a mabari padding through the hold like an honored guest) that Rylen, Surana, and Timur had also been seen in the tavern in the evenings with a group of others including Lead Scout Harding, drinking and swapping tales, apparently amid a great deal of laughter.

Rumor also reached Cullen that she’d been seen in the courtyard before breakfast, aggressively drilling herself alone against the pells in the pre-dawn light. He saw very little of her himself outside of her sparring with Rylen and at meals, though he noticed she arrived a few minutes early for her session with Rylen and sat on the bench to observe him in return, Timur by her side as always. In fact, he had not seen her without the mabari since she arrived, watching everything intently, a fact that seemed to have also struck others. By the third afternoon sparring session an ancient rug had appeared in that sunny spot by the bench, and, though he didn’t admit anything, Cullen caught Rylen suppressing a grin at Surana’s obvious pleasure at the thoughtful gesture. At least Timur seemed to approve of Cullen’s presence during the sparring. Somehow his head always appeared in his lap without Cullen noticing.

All too quickly, a messenger arrived with word that their majesties Ferelden were a few hours away and would arrive mid-morning the next day. Surana stood silently off to the side in the war room while they discussed the proper reception at the gates as well as a formal banquet planned for early afternoon. Cullen studied her resigned expression as she stroked Timur’s head, staring out one of the windows at storm clouds building over the mountains. Leliana, on the other hand, was delighted, insisting they all share a final evening with her at the tavern before they became wrapped up in the formalities of the state visit. Josephine tried to protest, frantically reviewing all of her arrangements, but Leliana laughed and guided her out the door toward her office on Cullen’s heels, pointing out that Josephine had even planned contingencies for any mabari they might have with them.

 Surana slowly folded the worn old blanket Timur had rested on, lost in thought until she turned to find that they were alone with the Inquisitor, now perched on the edge of the war table studying her curiously. “Yes, Inquisitor, do you need me for something?”

 Cadash rested her hands on her knees, leaning forward, noticing that a few days rest had erased a little of the angular gauntness of the elven woman, though she thought the woman had always been sharp-featured and intentionally chose to accent that in her armor and hair. “Are you planning to disappear tomorrow morning when they get here?” Surana raised a dark eyebrow in controlled surprise, clearly wary, but the dwarf shrugged casually. “I read Leliana’s reports, maybe more closely than even she realizes, and I know you’ve avoided contact with Alistair and Anora except for Warden business since the end of the Blight. Don’t care about ancient gossip, true or not, I just want to know that if I turn tomorrow morning to say ‘and look who’s here!’ you aren’t going to be hiding in the Undercroft.”

 “Not sodding likely.” Surana muttered, then expanded when Cadash raised a blonde eyebrow inquisitively in return. “Dagna. I was the one who arranged for her to come to the surface to study magic during the Blight, and she’s a bit…enthusiastic in her gratitude.” Zheevá chuckled understandingly. “No, I won’t disappear, and I swear I’ll do my best to avoid trouble. Not that I expect any. His majesty may be annoyed that no one knew where I was for so long, and Anora won’t exactly greet my return with open arms and cascades of rose petals, but I’d be surprised if she does more than snipe a little. Josephine already knows it will be best to only ask me to attend when I’m essential.”

“And you’re heartbroken about missing out on sodding diplomatic trade discussions and treaties.” Cadash rolled her eyes, then tucked a bit of stray blonde hair back into the green cloth wrapped around her head. “Convenient for _you_ to have an excuse to avoid those _._ Because we both know there’s no way they’re coming all this way _just_ to see Leliana. Blasted boring nobles, I’ll have to get Adan to make me something to keep me awake.”

 Surana grinned back sympathetically, though she was still a little wary as if uncertain whether or not she had avoided an unpleasant discussion. “Well, it may not be as bad as you think; her majesty may have reined in his majesty’s sense of humor a little, but I’m fairly certain she hasn’t been able to put a leash on it. For once, at least, I’m just here as part of the scenery but you can always make use of me to entertain some of their nobles. Just _please_ not Arlessa Isolde, which means not Arl Eamon either, if they’re part of the delegation. Arl Teagan and Teyrn Fergus are old friends, though, and so is Bann Shianni.” Surana’s grin broadened. “Hmm, I get on pretty well with Bann Sighard and Bann Alfstanna, a few of the others. Those are the most likely ones, I think.

 “I hope Shianni’s along; you’ll like her I think, and she’s good at helping me dodge their majesties’ attention. You’ll know if she’s here even without introductions; bright red hair, aggressively outspoken, and still the only elven noble in Ferelden, I think. Oh!” She was clearly caught up in thinking through what she knew about the nobles who might possibly accompany the royal couple. “If she’s with them, warn Josephine to assign someone to keep a close watch to make certain no Orlesian noble is stupid enough to try to take liberties with Shianni. _I_ might freeze one into place. _She_ is likely to make permanent alterations.” Surana shrugged rather than answer the question in Zheevá’s eyes. “The Denerim alienage was, and still is, a harsh place to live. I met her during the Blight, and learned a lot more later when she tried to help me locate any family I might still have.”

 Cadash nodded, but was diverted from (or was too well aware of what could happen to the poor and powerless to pursue) the topic of Shianni’s past. “Tried to? Did you find your family?”

 “No.” Just a single word, spoken softly as her hand moved on Timur’s head. “She found stories of half a dozen girls taken from different alienages who could have been me, but nothing really fit; it’s entirely likely my family died in the Blight. I was taken to Kinloch so young that I don’t remember anything and even my last name doesn’t help; we’re pretty certain someone lied to Templars to protect themselves. And if they kept records at Kinloch, I was never able to find out what was in them.” She watched the scarred hand moving on the mabari’s equally scarred old head as he leaned into her thigh reassuringly.

 “I wonder if Cullen could…”

 “No!” Cadash was startled by the fierceness behind that refusal. “Please, don’t ask Cullen anything about Kinloch. Even if I have family, they may not want to know I’m alive; a mage child isn’t something people brag about, even if she becomes the Hero of Ferelden.”

Cadash continued to study her, an odd lop-sided smile responding to the tinge of bitterness in the mage’s words. “Like respectable people might not want to admit their respectability was purchased through the Carta.” Surana paused in stroking Timur’s head, regarding the older woman curiously. “It would still be nice for you to at least know where you were from; are you sure Cullen…?”

 “No.” This refusal was less fierce, but just as final. “Please don’t mention it to him. Any records would have been destroyed in the last few years anyway, why drag up more painful memories for him?”

 “You’re protecting him.”

 Surana’s too-thin body went rigid, closing her eyes for just a moment before meeting lively green ones calmly. “He’s an old friend, Inquisitor, why shouldn’t I want to protect him?”

 “And not more than that? I said I read Leliana’s reports more closely than even she realized; I know there were…rumors.” The mage tensed visibly, her thin body tightly coiled.

 “Shit. Please tell me you and Leliana are the only ones who know about those rumors? He doesn’t need this dragged out now and used to humiliate him.”

 “Unless some of the mages here remember, I wouldn’t think so.” The warden seemed to relax, at least a little, but Cadash could smell a hint of lightning about to strike and wasn’t entirely certain the odor of ozone was coming from the storm moving in. In the past week, Surana had not used _any_ magic outside of her workouts against Rylen, at least not that Zheevá had heard, but she certainly knew _some_ elemental magic if she’d made a habit of freezing offensive recruits.

 “Has he ever told you what happened to him at Kinloch?”

 “Some. I know there was a rebellion. He watched his friends killed and blood mages tortured him, tried to break him.”

 “Did he mention who ended the rebellion? Me, Timur, Leliana, an elderly mage?”

 “No.”

 “Well, we did, and along the way, we found him.” She turned, walking toward one of the windows and staring out, Timur pressed against her thigh reassuringly. “He thought he was still being tortured when he saw us. They’d used _my_ face to torture him, Inquisitor, to try to break him. _That_ is why I would have avoided coming to Skyhold if I’d known he was here; every time I see him staring at me, I have to wonder if he’s back in Kinloch reliving that nightmare. He may have felt some infatuation for me once, but nothing can ever wash away those foul memories that wore my face. Fenedhis, I don’t even know how to _talk_ to him now.”

 “You seem to be doing alright.”

 “As long as we stick to planning and training, yes. Otherwise, I find myself shocking him just to try to jar him out of remembering that apprentice, and all I can do is hope that it helps without offending him too much. I’m glad he seems to want me as a friend still, but any other possibility was tainted permanently by what happened.” She rested her forehead against the window, staring out at the streaks of distant lighting that stretched from storm clouds to mountain top, shredding the darkening sky with traces of brilliant hot light, the air heavy with ozone.

 “Is that what you want?”

 “I’m a mage, what I wanted has _never_ mattered.”

 “That’s not an answer.”

 “No other answer is possible.” She shrugged, staring down into Timur’s eyes for a long moment before continuing slowly. “I’m not sure even _I_ know what I want anymore.” The mage finally met Cadash’s eyes again, her pale blue-grey ones calm. “What I do know is that he’s a good man who’s been through a lot of pain he didn’t deserve and made some bad mistakes himself. I _may_ know quite a bit more about what happened in Kirkwall and what he did or didn’t do than I’ve let him know, but that he’s here, now, trying to work with mages, especially me, says everything I need to know. So yes, I’ll try to protect him, especially from any reminder of…what you mentioned. Now, Inquisitor, I promised Timur a walk in the garden, if you’ll excuse me.” Nodding politely but firmly, she left the War Room, but Cadash remained perched on the table, lost in thought.

 “She hurts. Pain, grief, guilt, guilt that never stops, grows, consumes her.” Cole stepped out of the shadows behind the door, wide brimmed hat shading his face as he looked through the doorway the Warden had just passed through.

 “Has she met you, Cole?”

 “Yes. She talked to me, I don’t scare her, but she won’t let me help with her pain though it burns like a fire inside her. ‘Cole, I need my pain to remind me or I’ll make the same mistakes. Without my pain, you would unmake who I am.’ I didn’t understand that. She wears masks, doesn’t want anyone to see. I don’t understand, she would never have let him be hurt if she could have stopped it, but she feels…guilty?”

 Zheevá suddenly levered herself off the table, landing lightly on her feet. “Maybe it’s like how I felt guilty about Cullen because I helped smuggle lyrium, even though the lyrium he took came from somewhere else. People don’t always make sense when it comes to guilt.”

 “Maybe…. It doesn’t feel quite the same. _He_ doesn’t blame her, but she didn’t want to hear that.” The dwarf reached up to rest a hand gently on his upper arm.

 “Well, give her time. Now, how about you and I slip down to the courtyard for a bit of sparring practice ourselves before that storm lets loose? Or before Josephine thinks of a dozen boring things I need to do immediately?”

 Cole followed her out the door, humming softly, and after a moment Cadash recognized the melody of the song Maryden had played the first night about the mabari and his Warden.

* * *

So, Shianni is usually assumed to only be made bann (and murdered) when the Hero of Ferelden was a city elf (though it’s unclear whether she was actually made bann,) but I’m choosing to believe that Alistair seizes on this solution in any story when the HoF was an elf, and that Shianni’s assassination was just a rumor. I also don't include the warden as a noble since she was only acting as the representative of the wardens and her children would not inherit Amaranthine.


	11. Nettles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another party at the tavern

* * *

* * *

Cassandra’s voice brought Cullen back to himself as he observed Surana and Timur drifting through the group gathered in the tavern. “I understand you and the Warden Commander have a scheme to try to train teams of Templars and mages to work together to deal with maleficar?”

 “Or renegade Templars, or any threat that would benefit from having those combined skills, yes.”

 Cassandra’s trademark snort of disgust was her only answer for a few moments, but he waited patiently, still watching Timur in fascination as he collected food tribute from person after person, including Sera and Josephine who offered him food so unconsciously that he was fairly certain they didn’t remember doing so. Surana was the only other person who seemed aware that he was exercising a remarkable ability to extract food from their intimate crowd without yielding a drop of his dignity, blue-grey eyes meeting Cullen’s in amusement once or twice as if aware that he was observing the old mabari’s performance. Finally Cassandra continued, bluntly as always. “Don’t you think you’re crossing into the Seekers’ responsibilities?”

 He shrugged. “If you have the Seekers’ to spare to create teams of three people instead of two, we’d be delighted. But you have so few Seekers left and you’re still wrestling with what changes to make after reading what was kept secret. Emergencies don’t wait.” The ex-Templar finally lifted his eyes from Timur to the Seeker’s dark ones. “Cassandra, you were with the Inquisitor in the Frostback Basin, so you _know_ the Seekers’ once included some mages and non-humans, but somewhere along the line, they were expelled. Isn’t it possible that lack of cooperation helped shape the Circles so that many mages felt trapped while most Templars stopped seeing them as people? _If_ we start by creating only pairs with a mage and a Templar, working on an equal footing, perhaps we can find a better balance.”

 Cassandra’s scowl gave way, though she snorted. “You’ve been talking to Leliana and the Warden Commander.”

 “Some, though my own thoughts had actually been running in similar lines since the beginning of the mage rebellion. The Warden Commander also pointed out that we can’t know what will happen in the future, and for all we know, _this_ is how the qunari system started before it devolved into handlers and mage weapons.”

 “Do you plan to join one of these new teams yourself?” His eyes had wandered back to Timur, engaged in a staring contest with Varric who finally conceded and offered him a small slice of sausage with a laugh. Cullen jerked his head around, startled.

 “Of course not, I’m no longer a Templar, why…” Cassandra’s eyes shifted briefly in the direction of the Warden then back with an almost innocent smile, and for the first time, Cullen realized that the Seekers must have investigated the events at Kinloch Hold. But for all her bluntness on other matters, she had always shown remarkable tact about people’s private lives, and even now he couldn’t guess whether she’d always known he’d once been infatuated with the Hero of Ferelden. He cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure. “Right now, Surana and Rylen are training as the first team, though she’s begun testing two more pairs to see if they can work together.”

“I know, I’ve observed some of their sparring, and it’s a pleasure to see. But will either of them want to stay with this force you’re putting together? I thought _he_ would return to Starkhaven eventually, and _she_ is still the Warden Commander for the moment.”

 “I can’t speak for Rylen, though he doesn’t seem to be in any great hurry to return to the Free Marches. Surana, though, if she isn’t a warden any longer…” He hesitated, then plunged on. “It seems to me that she cares deeply about its success, so yes, she may want to stay with them.”

 “I see.” Her eyes wandered back to the party, and Cullen couldn’t make out whether she approved or disapproved of the idea. At least she didn’t seem inclined to pursue the question of what his feelings for the mage had been or might now be.

 About that time, Dorian’s voice carried across their party to the Warden Commander standing with Timur, waiting for Varric to refill her stein. “My dear Surana, there’s a question I keep forgetting to ask you.”

 “Oh? You’re free to _ask_ , naturally, my good altus. And do I dare ask what that question might be?” She accepted the stein, winking at Rylen who appeared to be waiting for her to rejoin him, Krem, and a couple of officers who were deeply engaged in a heated, though friendly, debate on fighting techniques.

 “Actually I have two questions. Apparently the most scandalous gossip about you as an apprentice was that you dyed another apprentice’s hair an ugly shade of green that lasted for six months.” Iron Bull chuckled and leaned closer to pass Dorian a plate.

 “Really? Such ancient and inconsequential gossip to dig up!” Her eyes wandered to where Cullen sat next to Cassandra, suddenly glittering with mischief and thrusting him abruptly back into memories of her as an apprentice for the first time in several days. “So what’s your question?”

 “How did you do it? I mean, I could create a spell that would dye someone’s hair, but it wouldn’t last more than a few days, and I can’t imagine how you’d hide the traces.” He had the attention of most of the group now, particularly Cadash and Adan who had until that moment been alternately engaged in sniping at each other and fondly feeding each other tidbits, but Surana just raised a thin, dark eyebrow in innocent surprise.

 “You already know that they never uncovered the culprit, so what makes you think _I_ know?”

 “My dear Warden, having discussed magical theory with you, I have a hard time believing any other apprentice in your Circle could possibly have done so without your help.” That got a brief laugh from Surana, who considered him for a few moments as she sipped from her stein.

 “Trying flattery now? Hmm, understand, I really can’t say how it was actually done, but if _I_ were to do something like that…” She paused for a few moments, taking a long slow drink from her stein while her eyes watched Dorian fidget. “ _I_ would create a multi-stage spell that actually used very little magic. For instance, sprinkle an alchemical powder into someone’s hairbrush every day for a week and cast a minor spell on their bed linen a couple of days before sheets were changed so they’d be sent to be washed before there was an investigation and couldn’t be associated with that person. Once those were in place, I think another minor spell might be cast on the person’s towel, simply making a tiny alteration to a simple spell that many apprentices used to make their hair look shiny and full when they were done, just in case the towel wasn’t sent to be washed immediately. Not that we were supposed to use spells like that, but apprentices will be apprentices, and if anyone detected it, well, there were probably a dozen towels with that spell being washed every day. Then another alchemical powder added to the person’s soap which simply activated everything else so there was nothing magical to detect and would do nothing to anyone else’s hair if it was tested.” Dorian’s eyes had widened by this point, but Cadash and Adan were snickering and Dagna had a dangerously excited grin.

 “Great Maker! And you thought this up when you were fifteen or sixteen?”

“I? I am simply speculating, my dear. I wouldn’t even venture to say which element actually carried the dye, which delayed the activation, and which made it impossible to over-dye.” Varric guffawed and passed her a pastry which she tore in half to share with Timur. “Though it’s possible that First Enchanter Irving _did_ eventually remember that one of his apprentices had gotten into a bit of minor trouble a year or two earlier and had been assigned to assist a Tranquil alchemist for a few months as punishment. But since there was no evidence, he might also have kept that to himself other than a mild scolding.” Her eyes finally met Cullen’s again with that impish mischief that he had often glimpsed when they’d simply been an apprentice and a young Templar who was known to turn a blind eye to harmless jokes, and suddenly he was struck by how little he’d seen of that side of her. Apprentice Surana may not have had a large circle of friends, but she had had a lively sense of mischief within that tight-knit group of friends.

 “My dear Warden, you’re more devious and dangerous than I thought.” Some of that light of mischief went out of her eyes, but she smiled at Dorian and spoke in a mild, almost amused tone.

 “I may have been accused of that a few times, but I suspect Ferelden, at least, has nothing to complain about.” She took a casually slow, deep drink from her stein before again raising her eyebrow at him quizzically. “And you had a second question?”

 “Were you truly such a paragon as an apprentice that a childish prank, however impressively executed, was the worst gossip that was whispered about you?” Cullen managed to avoid tensing at that question, telling himself that she had shown as much interest as him in keeping old gossip buried, and her words immediately reassured him.

 “I’m afraid that truly was the worst thing that was whispered about me while I was an apprentice, yes. At least that I ever heard.” She continued smiling cheerfully at Dorian, her eyes not even flicking briefly to Cullen, and he admired the carefully truthful wording.

 “Not even when you were recruited to the Grey Wardens? I mean, they don’t exactly seem to have a preference for sweet, innocent things.” Surana stiffened and the smile slipped from her face, leaving only a distant, expressionless mask.

 “I wasn’t an apprentice by then, and if you’re asking if I was conscripted, yes, I was; I had little more choice than I did about being a mage. If you want to know more, you are welcome to make a trip to Kinloch Hold and see if you can find records.” Dorian stiffened in turn, clearly not expecting her belligerent response, and conversation died as people turned. Cullen impulsively felt the need to repay her for her continuing discretion about his infatuation, especially since she clearly didn’t plan to defend herself.

 “The Warden Commander won’t say it, but she was not conscripted because of anything she did herself. She simply doesn’t want to point a finger at either the Knight Commander or the First Enchanter and tell you that she was caught in the middle of their power struggle.” Her head whipped around, something he couldn’t quite read reflected in her blue-grey eyes very briefly, but certainly he’d taken her by surprise. He couldn’t quite suppress a brief lopsided smile at finally being the one to startle, though he had no idea if she guessed the source of his amusement. “It’s true, I don’t know why you’re still loyal to Irving; he obviously intended to force you into the Wardens by setting you up to be Greagoir’s scapegoat. Not that anyone except you has reason to complain about how that worked out, but there it is.” His lips twisted into a crooked smile as everyone except Cassandra and Leliana studied the pair, trying to work out what was behind his words.

 She continued to stare for a long moment before inclining her head in acknowledgement. “Not loyalty, perhaps, but more simply that I do not like to be reminded…” Timur nudged her hand, interrupting her train of thought, and she stared down at him before meeting Dorian’s eyes ruefully. “I’m sorry, the first rule among Wardens is that we never ask each other how we became Wardens. It…avoids dividing our ranks between those who chose to be there and those who did not. Even my officers didn’t know which recruits had been criminals unless I considered someone a risk. But it’s true, I had no choice, unless you consider Aeonar a pleasure jaunt.”

* * *

The conversation stalled for a minute or two, but most of the group seemed determined to enjoy themselves despite that brief flash of prickly defensiveness. Surana quickly rejoined Rylen’s circle where she behaved as if nothing had happened, immediately reentering whatever debate had kept them so passionately engaged. When Cassandra got up to have her mug refilled, Cullen moved to sit next to Leliana who had mostly been observing, uncharacteristically quiet, though she greeted him cheerfully enough.

 “Well, that was bracing.”

 “Is that what you call it?” He spoke genially, but the ex-spymaster simply chuckled.

 “I think it was time she reminded someone besides you and the nobles that however much she pretends to be a lapdog, there’s a wolf bitch lurking beneath that surface.” Cullen almost choked on his wine, glaring at her. “Really, Commander, just because I’m no longer the Inquisition’s spymaster doesn’t mean I don’t know most of what goes on. Though I admit I’ll leave for Val Royeaux a little easier knowing someone will watch out for her a little. You know she’d have let them believe she did something terrible rather than tell them the truth.”

 About that time, Iron Bull joined the group who were apparently now engaged in swapping stories about various fights, with Krem and a non-Fereldan officer visibly pointing to Timur to ask questions which Surana just as clearly was answering enthusiastically.

 “For a minute, she reminded me…”

 “Of Surana when _I_ first met her? Yes.” Leliana suddenly chuckled light-heartedly. “You should have seen us the first time I took her shopping for clothes and shoes, the things Shale said about the way we giggled when we got back and poor Alistair’s face! Some days, I’m not sure the Warden Commander remembers how to laugh.”

 Leliana changed the subject after that, and they quietly discussed the arrival of the royal party in the morning. Cassandra joined them, and Leliana reassured both that Josephine had been convinced that they would look more professional in their armor to Fereldan eyes than in the uniforms they’d worn at Halam’shiral. He glanced toward the group including Surana from time to time, and when they broke up, the officers leaving to supervise the changing of guard shifts, he caught sight of Iron Bull moved closer to Surana, speaking in a low voice while no one else was nearby. At first, she smiled and listened politely, but suddenly her smile froze on her face, her mug in midair, halfway to her mouth for a few moments before she lowered it. The polite, distant mask she used with the nobles slipped into place and when he was done speaking, she simply shook her head and said something that made him guffaw, then slap her on the shoulder before he wandered off, leaving her and Timur in a locked gaze. Cullen was reassured when Timur sneezed, then gaped at her with his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth in what he’d come to realize was a mabari laugh at her obvious discomfort.

Cullen left the tavern not long afterwards, surprised to discover Surana leaning on the wall halfway up the nearby stairs, staring down into the lower courtyard, Timur pressed against her. He thought about slipping quietly to a different set of stairs nearby and on to his tower, but Timur turned to stare directly at him in the dim light cast by the torches, and Surana glanced around to see who had attracted his attention.

 “Commander.” Her voice was not exactly welcoming, but wasn’t unfriendly either, and after the awkward moments of the evening, he didn’t want to seem to brush past them brusquely. Instead, he climbed the few stairs to the landing, offered his hand to Timur in greeting before leaning companionably on the wall next to her. He silently inhaled the delicate, defiantly sweet scent of nightblooming nettles that someone had planted in tubs at the base of the wall and idly wondered if that scent had attracted their attention. “I should thank you, I guess. I…hate talking about what happened, especially since it was so complicated and I still feel guilty that _I_ didn’t spot what was going on with Jowan sooner. I’m not used to anyone jumping to my defense.”

 He shrugged uncomfortably. “What I said was absolutely true, though. And I…just wanted to tell you, I appreciate how you’ve deflected _other_ questions, especially since you manage to do it without actually lying. I suppose I should apologize too for bringing up the story about that practical joke.”

 “I’m surprised you remembered that after all these years.” She laughed softly, hand stroking Timur’s head slowly.

 “Honestly, I always tried to work out whether or not you really did it; you were so sincere when they questioned you about it that I wasn’t certain until tonight.” To his surprise, she almost giggled.

 “I’m a terrible liar, or didn’t you know that? But _if_ I actually was responsible for the hair prank, well, what questions did they ask? I could truthfully say _no_ to any question about whether I cast a spell on her because I cast the spell on things. And so on. _If_ I did it, I mean.”

 He laughed softly in return. “She was a rather disagreeable girl, you know, I overheard her spreading vicious gossip more than once.”

 “And _I_ caught her tormenting some of the small children with horrible stories about Templars and the Harrowing, or hadn’t you heard what our original fight was about?” She sighed, then shrugged in turn. “And the bitch of it is, she survived everything that happened because she hid and let other people die trying to defend the younger children.” She glanced sideways at him. “She’s also the reason I knew you were in Kirkwall.”

 “She was? Greagoir wouldn’t have told any of the mages where I was sent.”

 Surana groaned. “I had to go to Kinloch a year or two after we killed the archdemon, and she made certain that I overheard an absolutely appalling rumor about you, probably made up on the spot just for my benefit. So I asked Leliana to find out what really happened to you.”

 Cullen digested that surprising piece of news in silence, then shifted the subject rather than pursue what that implied just now. “What did Iron Bull say to you that disturbed you so much? I didn’t think anything could make you look that uncomfortable.”

 “Oh, that.” The light was faint enough he couldn’t be certain, but Cullen could have sworn she blushed for a moment. “Your qunari friend has…interesting suggestions on what I need to relax me, Commander. I wouldn’t even have understood what he was talking about if Sanga hadn’t explained it to me in excruciating detail years ago.”

 “Oh.” Cullen had heard enough rumors that he had a very good idea of the sort of thing the Iron Bull might have suggested. “Not to your taste, I take it?”

 “Andraste’s ass, no!” She half turned her face away from him, confirming his suspicion that she was blushing. “And definitely not with a former Ben-Hassrath agent who appears to have no sense of…discretion. I mean, I understand the theory, but…no.”

 For the second time tonight, she reminded him of the apprentice at Kinloch, who he had rarely seen even flirting. “You mentioned someone, Sanga?”

 “Oh, she’s a friend who owns an, um, an _establishment_ in Denerim.” Timur sneezed, this time amazingly like a skeptical canine laugh, and Surana groaned. “Snitch. Alright, it’s a high class whorehouse. I had to go there while tracking down a rumor during the Blight and lent Sanga a hand with a problem. We became friends, and I visit there whenever I’m in Denerim. It’s one of the few better quality places I can get a drink and be treated like anyone else.”

 “Oh. You go there to…drink, then.” That was half statement and half uncertain question, and the woman sighed, turning to lean back against the wall.

 “Among other things. Are you going to be horrified if I admit I’m familiar with some of their other services, Commander?” Her voice had that note of exhausted resignation again, almost as if she was braced for inevitable recriminations.

 “No, I just don’t understand why _you_ would need to…”

 “Forget who I am for an hour or two with someone who won’t be hurt if I die the next day? Someone I won’t later have to order to his death for the greater good and live with the guilt?” Bitterness and guilt colored her voice, and again he had a feeling he was seeing the real woman hiding behind the roles. “Believe me, Commander, I learned that lesson, both during the blight and shortly after, and the only way I could do those things was to _become_ the Warden Commander and nothing else to my people.” She barked a humorless laugh, staring up at the sky above them. “And that frightened me, that I might lose myself so far that I began to _use_ my people like things, stop feeling guilt or responsibility for them. So, whenever I was afraid that Arisha Surana was slipping away into oblivion, yes, I’d allow myself an hour or two just to _feel_ , even if it was a lie. Because without that, I was afraid I would become that monster.”

 The stunned silence stretched out until suddenly she jerked upright. “Shit, did I really just tell you that? Fenedhis, I must have drunk more than I realized. I’m sorry, Commander, excuse me.” With that, she rushed up the stairs without looking at him, Timur barely able to stay with her, and vanished in the direction of her room overlooking the garden.

* * *

**Afterword**

* * *

While I’m aware (and enjoy) that Dorian and Iron Bull can have a relationship, it wasn’t clear to me that they _always_ do if both are unromanced, and since this Cadash never had them in her party together, I choose to assume they did not. Of course, this is also partly writer’s convenience since it leaves IB available. Also, I apologize this chapter took so long, but moving throws schedules off...


	12. Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hangovers and reunions

 

* * *

The next morning at breakfast, Surana only picked at her food, favoring the black coffee that Leliana kept pouring into her mug with an air of bright cheerfulness that even irritated Cullen. Finally Arisha glowered at Leliana, holding up a spoon of porridge threateningly. “Nightingale, keep it up and I’m going to forget that you’re being made Divine in a couple of weeks.”

“Why, what makes you say that, Arisha?” The ex-spymaster’s voice was as innocent as the expression on her face. “My, you do look a bit under the weather this morning.”

The warden threatened her with the spoon of porridge for a moment longer before putting it back in the bowl with a groan and covering her eyes with both thin, scarred hands. “Did you really think if you insisted on a party last night, of all nights, that I _might_ indulge a bit too much? Yes, I have a sodding headache. What did you expect? At least I’m not hiding in the Undercroft.” Despite his own uneasy reflections about yet another conversation which went from tense to friendly then abruptly to awkward, Cullen felt some sympathy for her this morning. Timur, however, sneezed in amusement, earning himself a glower from his friend.

“No fear of that, at least.” Cadash’s cheerfully opaque remark earned her a glare in turn, but the Inquisitor simply responded to her glare by pushing a tiny bottle down to Surana past Adan’s empty chair. “Thought you might be feeling last night’s ale this morning. Here, a little something Adan whips up for me. Add it to your coffee. Trust me, it helps.”

Dorian glanced up from across the table. “Ah, our alchemical wizard who is no doubt barricaded in his workroom to avoid the fuss this morning, unlike the rest of us. However what she’s not saying, my good warden, is that anything her good alchemist makes tastes worse than horse piss but is remarkably effective. If you add that to your coffee, you’ll want a clean mug if you plan to drink anything else.”

Surana picked up the vial but regarded it dubiously before shrugging. “Be glad you’ve never tasted the Joining chalice, horse piss would be ambrosia by comparison. And if it helps me get through the morning without snarling at anyone or getting the Wardens banished from Ferelden…”

Cadash snickered. “Besides, shows what you know, Dorian. Adan leaves the bronto piss out of almost everything he makes for _me_.”

Dorian stiffened in outrage. “What! Wait, it tastes like that on purpose?”

“Didn’t you know? He doesn’t want anyone using up his draughts unless they really need them.” The dwarf grinned smugly at him, tucking a stray blonde curl back into the wrap on her head, a rich purple today that better complemented her fine leather armor instead of her preferred green, a compromise with Josephine who’d tried, futilely, to veto any head wrap. Cullen also noticed that Josephine herself had finally acquiesced to the argument that the Fereldan court would be singularly unimpressed with the Inquisition’s seriousness if they wore the ornate uniforms made for the Orlesian court. Even the Antivan simply wore her finest everyday clothing, although she seemed to have taken more care than usual with her appearance, if that was possible.

“But he makes yours differently?” Surana gingerly poured the contents of the vial into her mug of coffee and sipped dubiously, then began to drink more heartily, her thin face showing such relief that Cullen had to suppress a laugh, some of his own apprehensions relaxing at the same time.

“Of course. If I have a headache and sick stomach, who am I going to take my bad temper out on? Or rather, who will _we_ take our bad tempers out on since we usually drink together?” The Inquisitor winked. “And he seems to be particularly concerned about my welfare in the field for some reason. I can’t imagine why.”

“Maybe because you got such a big bruise on your arse from that dragon fight in Crestwood that you could barely sit your horse on the trip back?” Sera’s grin was wicked, but the Inquistor just chuckled with a nostalgic grin.

“I dunno, there was something kind of sweet about the way that crotchety rock licker roared at me when I got back. And threatened to dump me in my bathtub still dressed so I couldn’t put my armor back on until it was re-treated. Might have made me think he was going all soft, maybe even was worrying about me a little.”

“My dear Inquisitor, you two may be many things, but I don’t think _sweet_ is a word I’ve ever heard used to describe either of you.” Dorian was more amused now, though still a bit disgruntled. “Not that I object, mind you, I have a low tolerance for sweetness and light, but it does sometimes make it difficult for the observer to tell when you two are just saying _I missed you_ and when you’re about to start throwing sharp objects.”

“Ha! I’ve never thrown anything more dangerous than a pillow or bread. At _him_ , anyway.” She fingered one of her knives significantly, even Surana joining in the laughter, looking less queasy and pale by the moment. Then Josephine took one look at the number of visible weapons on the Inquisitor and began arguing over how much weaponry was acceptable while most of the rest of the table excused themselves quickly and wisely fled.

* * *

Mid-morning one of the watchers rode in with word that the royal party had been spotted about half an hour away, and Cullen had a sentry blow a horn to signal everyone in the welcoming party to assemble in the courtyard. He had just finished making certain the honor guards were in position just in front of the grooms and servants waiting to assist the travelers when he caught sight of Surana, Timur, and Rylen heading through the door to the anteroom to the right of the gate and called out to them, curiously heading in their direction.

“Aren’t you two also part of the welcoming party?”

Surana obviously barely restrained the urge to roll her eyes, and she definitely turned toward him with a whiff of mulish rebelliousness as her free hand fell briefly to the hilt of her sword. “I promised the Inquisitor I’d be present, but there’s no reason anyone needs to get distracted before they’ve been introduced to the senior Inquisition members.”

Rylen’s own grin bordered on impertinent. “That would be _you_ , Commander, not us. Surana’s not even officially part of the Inquisition yet. And I am just…”

“My second-in-command.” Cullen wasn’t about to let the knight captain desert him completely, though he didn’t blame either of them in the least for wanting to dodge some of the formalities.

“Which means _my_ place is in the background. _Way_ in the background, Commander. Behind _both_ Commanders.” Surana not-so-subtly elbowed Rylen, then smiled with a very obvious false innocence.

“I also thought we could watch them approach across the bridge so I could see which of their nobles we’re going to have to deal with for the next few days. Then slip back out here to the top of the steps once they’re all inside the courtyard with their backs to me so my presence doesn’t derail Josephine’s carefully planned introductions. _She_ is expecting people like Queen Anora, _not_ King Alistair, and once he catches sight of me and decides to start demanding answers about where I’ve been for two years, nothing short of direct intervention by the Maker himself will put Josephine’s ceremonies back on course.” She shrugged, then continued resolutely through the door with Rylen and Timur. Cullen glanced around the courtyard and abruptly decided he could join them at least until the royal party reached the far end of the bridge, a decision that he firmly told himself had nothing to do with escaping the fluttering, nervous Orlesian nobles gathering who seemed to sense that they were about to be overrun by a pack of untrained mabari. “And I would bet my best dress that Bann Shianni will leave Josephine speechless if she’s along.”

Rylen’s laugh came from the belly then, a rich unrestrained sound as he leaned against the wall next to the window where she was peering outward. “You, Surana? Have a best dress? The woman who informed me that the only reason the Chantry made mages wear robes was to slow them down if they tried to run?”

She snickered in return, rather surprising Cullen with how at ease she seemed to be with the Templar. Then again, they had been training together, and apparently drinking together, for most of a week. “Alright, it wouldn’t be that much of a bet at the moment, I admit, though actually I do sometimes like dresses. But just try scrubbing one of those Orlesian court dresses in a stream on a rock and see how it looks.” Timur sneezed twice, and the elf glowered at him. “You! You were a lot of help this morning, laughing at me in front of everyone when I had a hangover. Keep it up and I’ll tell the story of how you raided Morrigan’s bag of herbal components.”

The mabari assumed his own innocent air, but the warden just snorted. “Don’t give me that look, trying to convince me it was an accident. You don’t make a mistake like that by accident _four times_.” Rylen and Cullen chuckled as the mabari’s ears drooped. “Yes, and who sat up with you while you were sick all night every time without laughing at _you_?”

Now the mabari somehow snorted, a noise that was outright skepticism as was the way he cocked his head at her. “Alright, maybe I wasn’t _that_ sympathetic, but that was _after_ the first two times.” She stroked his head lovingly, and he leaned back into her hand affectionately. “You scared me, you know. You aren’t going to lose me to a hangover, even if it was probably as stupid.” She didn’t quite meet either man’s eyes, as if a little embarrassed at the affectionate exchange, then turned back to the window to study the road in the distance. “Hmm, I think I see a couple of standards, they might be Ferelden.”

Rylen and Cullen stood closely behind her, one on either side, peering into the distance. Cullen also saw something moving, but Rylen squinted, concentrating intently. “I see something, but I can’t quite make out the heraldry, just that it looks like some sort of animal, rampant.”

Surana raised a silently questioning eyebrow at him, and he chuckled. “That’s the fancy heraldic term for an animal rearing up with only one foot on the ground and the front feet attacking.”

“Hmm, not something we were taught at the circle, though I was supposed to learn some as Warden Commander. Somehow there never seemed to be time to do more than learn to quickly recognize the arms of the people sworn to Amarathine. But yes, the Ferelden arms have two mabari facing each other in that pose. Not that it’s likely to be anyone else today.”

A few moments more, and the stately procession had neared enough for the devices on the standards to become visible as, in fact, mabari. Rylen cleared his throat before speaking with mock gravity. “Commander, I do believe that if you don’t reappear shortly, Ambassador Montilyet may mount a search.”

Cullen was tempted to join them in their mild rebelliousness and stay at least a few moments longer to hear some of Surana’s thoughts about the nobles, but experience told him that Josephine was probably already in a panic over his truancy. He nodded with a certain amount of dignity and rejoined the group in the courtyard to discover that Josephine was indeed in a dither, both about him and the missing Warden Commander. Somewhat guiltily, he reassured her that Surana would make her appearance at the appropriate moment and stopped her from sending anyone to search for her. He actually had no doubts that the Warden would appear, in her own way and without any sign of the mulishness she had been demonstrating, though he wondered just how much Josephine knew about the reasons for Surana’s reluctance. As they watched the twin lines of riders now filing onto the other end of the bridge, he also mused wryly that Josephine had _not_ inquired after Rylen, feeling certain that the only reason she hadn’t demanded the knight captain serve as the head of the honor guard was Josephine’s fears that his normal…frankness might inconveniently exhibit itself.

* * *

“No sign of Shianni, damn. Still, we’re a long way from Denerim, and she’s never really been comfortable on a horse.” The two truants stood so their faces were shadowed from the approaching riders, and Surana had been softly ticking off names and pithy opinions of the score of nobles accompanying the royals on this visit. “No Arl Eamon, which means no Arlessa Isolde, praise the Maker for small mercies.” Rylen shifted at her uncharacteristic piety, and she chuckled, continuing to keep her voice low. “Oh, she’s a nice woman, devoted to Eamon in her way, but I swear, for someone born into the Orlesian nobility and The Game, she needs a keeper. And she chatters. To me.”

She tilted her head, trying to get a better look at some of the nobles passing in the farther line. “Bann Sighard, that’s the greying man in the far line of riders, and his son Oswin on the horse behind that. Good news for me, Sighard’ll let me hide behind him at anything formal and glare down any asses who still manage to find me. Pretty reasonable most of the time, though he’s good at inserting language in agreements that you want to read carefully. And I’m glad to see Oswin’s finally healed enough for a trip like this.” Surana was aware of Rylen’s eyes in a sideways glance, but didn’t elaborate. “Bann Alfstanna, she’s sensible, she and Josephine will hit it off, I think. She might ask to join us for sparring at some point, she can only tolerate sitting patiently in meetings for so long at a stretch….No sign of Arl Teagan; that’s too bad, but Anora probably thought it would be more diplomatic to exclude him and Eamon because of what happened in Redcliffe.”

At that moment, the standards passed far enough forward that the royal couple themselves were finally visible, strikingly handsome and richly dressed in the Theirin red and gold, riding with a well-dressed older man with a neatly trimmed short brown beard and alert brown eyes on their side closest to the window. Surana chuckled softly and Rylen was surprised to realize her eyes were not on either of the royals, but on the man escorting them, who in Rylen’s judgement was something of a plain sparrow next to the royals. The king in particular exuded an unselfconscious charisma that had little to do with his fair good looks. “Andraste’s flaming knickers, I _am_ in luck. No one can deflect Anora the way Teryn Fergus can, and if Josephine insists on going through with her plans to include dancing in the formal evening entertainments and I can’t escape, he’ll get me through at least one dance without making a complete idiot of myself.”

“Not a dancer, then?” Rylen grinned wickedly at her groan.

“I wouldn’t care to guess about the Free March circles, but court dancing wasn’t taught at Kinloch Hold, and I didn’t exactly have an abundance of time for anything frivolous once I became Warden Commander.”

“And no one taught you when you went to court in Denerim?”

She snorted. “I never spent a moment longer there than I had to, and I stayed out of view as much as I could. Teryn Fergus and Bann Sighard rescued me through the few times I couldn’t completely avoid it, and they didn’t even tease me too much for all the times I stepped on their feet. Do you?”

“Maker, no! And neither does the Commander. Between being sent to hold Griffon Wing Keep or having to face the nobles at the Winter Palace, well, I’d say the Western Approach looked like a garden spot.”

She shot him an odd look at his insertion of Cullen, but simply laughed softly. “Ah, that explains why he was so familiar with their _amusements_ too.” At this point, the royals were out of sight, and the trailing procession of guards, retainers, and, of course, a few mabari, were passing through the gate. The mage sighed and straightened. “Well, you can probably still slip out and hide behind some of the guards. I’ll stay just inside the door, listening, until I feel Josephine’s introductions are far enough along that it won’t be a disaster if someone spots me.”

Rylen chuckled and slapped her companionably on the shoulder. “Good luck, Surana. Hopefully they’ll be more relieved to see you alive than they are angry because they thought you’d run barking mad into the wilderness.”

* * *

The King and Queen had been properly re-introduced to Inquisitor Cadash, though no mention was made of their less pleasant meeting in Redcliffe over a year earlier. Both of them already knew Leliana, of course, and while she and Anora exchanged formal kisses on the cheeks, Alistair had swept Leliana into a brief hug, more to the surprise of the Inquisition spectators, perhaps, than his own courtiers who were, by now, well accustomed to their king’s occasional impulsiveness. Then Josephine presented Anora with a bouquet of very small roses, rather ordinary in appearance, but with a richly sweet fragrance that seemed to penetrate every corner of the courtyard. Surana, who by now had moved into the doorway to watch discretely, wondered if Josephine had coerced Adan or one of the mages into enhancing their natural scent, it was such a perfect essence of rose.

Bann Alfstanna seemed to be playing Josephine’s counterpart, the two women taking it in turns to introduce the senior members of the Inquisition and the nobles and other advisors accompanying the royals. After he was introduced, Cullen moved out of the way to make room for others to be introduced, and found himself near the middle-aged man who had been introduced as the Teryn of Highever. They nodded politely to each other, then without thinking, Cullen glanced at the anteroom door to see if Arisha had made her appearance yet. When he turned back, he found the Teryn had followed his gaze and was standing quite still, surprise and delight flashing briefly across his face before the formal mask dropped back into place. Before Cullen could react, the man had stepped up behind the royals, politely interrupting the ambassador to draw their attention to Surana. “Your majesties, there’s someone here you really need to see.”

The entire Fereldan party followed his finger curiously to where the Warden Commander stood proudly remote, so erect and poised with her right hand resting on the hilt of her sword that she could have been the model for a statue of a martial hero. Only her other hand on Timur’s head softened her stance as she calmly met the eyes of the two royals, ignoring the curses of surprise and murmurs sweeping the visitors in the courtyard. A few of the other nobles reacted with the same pleasure as Teryn Fergus, but most just looked surprised, and Cullen caught at least a couple of faces surprised into revealing anger or something uglier before they brought themselves under control. A glance at Leliana assured him that she had taken note of those reactions, which reassured him. However, there was frank adoration and relief on the faces of most of the soldiers and servants.

Alistair, however, simply stared for a long moment, his mouth silently moving to form the word, “Surana?” Then Anora rested a hand lightly on his forearm and he seemed to remember where he was. He exchanged a look with Anora before barking brusquely at Surana, to Cullen’s surprise. “Warden Commander Surana, I assume you have an explanation for your absence for the past two years?”

The waves of whispering in the courtyard fell silent, and Surana returned Alistair’s glare with a stare that was glacially cool. “Your Majesty, are you asking as the King of Ferelden or as a grey warden? Unless a new treaty was negotiated between the Grey Wardens and Ferelden that I have not been made aware of, the Commander of the Grey is not required to divulge confidential Grey Warden business to rulers of countries with whom we have signed treaties. Nor do Grey Wardens under her command normally demand answers from their commander. Pardon me, Your Majesties, I should have added _former_ Grey Wardens.” Cullen hadn’t realized how much she had begun to let the remote, uncompromising façade of the Warden Commander slip over the past few days until it slammed back into place forcefully, her calm, precise words backed by ice and an edge as sharp as an obsidian blade, her posture erect and rigid as a statue carved from granite. Anora’s expression didn’t particularly change—the Warden Commander had clearly been _very_ unexpected but she was maintaining a polite façade—but the king’s head rocked back slightly as if slapped. Anora stepped in before he could react.

“In case you have forgotten, you are also Arlessa of Amaranthine, and we have some right to be concerned about the extended absence of someone who is responsible for protecting lands under our rule.”

“Arlessa acting for the Grey Wardens, but always Warden Commander first, Your Majesty.” Her words to Anora were tinged less by ice and more by a formal politeness. “However, I did report to both of you that I was required to pursue something urgent for some time and that I was leaving Amaranthine in the hands of our seneschal and my second-in-command, Warden Constable Nathaniel Howe. Teryn Cousland, I enclosed that letter to their Majesties in a packet of reports and letters I addressed to you, did I not, your lordship?” The middle aged man inclined his head politely, giving Cullen the odd feeling that he was suppressing a smile.

“You did indeed, and I made certain Their Majesties saw that letter, as I indicated in my reply. However, the letter didn’t indicate _quite_ …such an extended absence, my lady Commander.”

“Warden Howe and the other Fereldan Grey Wardens vanished, and without the courtesy of notifying us, though I admit your seneschal has managed the lands well despite their absence. But why didn’t you send word to us that you had returned, Warden Commander?” Alistair remained silent, allowing Anora to question the warden while he brought his reactions back under control, a phenomenon that the Warden Commander clearly noted, briefly.

“Because when I arrived here a few days ago, I was first told you were already on the way here. Any message I sent would most likely have passed you on the road and be most of the way to Denerim by now, as should be my message to my seneschal, Your Majesty. It seemed the simplest response was to wait for your arrival, especially as the Divine-Elect has requested that I lend the Inquisition my assistance for at least a few months. In light of events that occurred during my absence, and until I have some lead on the whereabouts of my missing Wardens, I felt it was my duty to agree.”

“You’ve joined the Inquisition?” The words seemed to burst out of Alistair, but Anora's hand tightening on his forearm seemed to calm him as a new murmur swept the Fereldens, a gesture that Surana clearly observed, her voice when she spoke again noticeably less icy though still formal.

“For a time, at least until the situation in the South is better stabilized and until I’ve finished the project I agreed to undertake here. However I believe the Lady Montilyet has a reception luncheon then a tour of Skyhold planned for you. Perhaps she can clear some time later today so we can all speak more privately and I may give you what explanations my oaths permit.” At that moment, Timur, who had remained almost frozen under her hand throughout the confrontation, as much a part of her tableau of heroic-warden-carved-in-granite as she, suddenly began whining at the king, his rear end wiggling beseechingly. That tiny action seemed to break the tension, and Alistair shifted his attention to the old warrior, crouching and calling him forward to give the mabari a friendlier reunion. Even Anora greeted Timur by name with surprising warmth. Or perhaps not so surprising from a Fereldan queen, Cullen mused. The other nobles were told off by Josephine to be escorted to rooms by the waiting soldiers while her aide took notes and quickly located her counterpart among the retainers so servants and luggage could be sorted and dispatched efficiently in the wake of the nobles. Cullen stayed put near Arisha until the chaos could be dispersed and saw the middle-aged Fergus brush off Josephine’s efforts, instead approaching the stairs where Arisha watched him approaching with a wry grin.

“My dear Warden Commander, when did you develop a taste for such dramatic entrances?” She drew herself up in a melodramatically haughty pose in response as if taking offense.

“I have absolutely _no_ idea what your lordship means.” The mage didn’t resist, however, when the man took her right hand in his, bringing it to his lips in a courtly and elegant gesture, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Well, at least _you_ are speaking to me.” Her voice was very soft now, and Cullen was fairly certain very few people other than himself and Rylen, who had silently appeared at his elbow once the formalities had broken up, were close enough to hear it over the hubbub.

“I shouldn’t be. You _did_ have us all worried, Surana.”

“Nonsense. You knew Timur wouldn’t let me do anything truly stupid.”

He squeezed her hand briefly, then frowned, turning to stare at the mabari briefly then back at her. “Wait, are you telling me you only took an elderly mabari? Maker’s breath, Surana, you traveled alone for _two years_ , even with a mabari like Timur _?_ ”

She pulled her hand free, shrugging defensively as she rested it on the hilt of her sword. “I came back, didn’t I?” The older man seemed about to add something then chuckled ruefully.

“I told their majesties that you said if you didn’t get away from being stared at for a little while, half their court was going to end up with icicles hanging off their noses, but even I never thought you’d be gone this long! I can’t say you look more rested though. Or better fed, Maker’s breath!”

“We were roughing it. Shit happens.” Surana shrugged again, and Cullen got the oddest feeling she was being evasive, though he couldn’t say why. Her voice dropped even lower. “So, I was expecting Alistair to forget himself and either try to scold me or rant at me, but all Anora had to do was get his attention and he played his part perfectly. Fenedhis, has she actually taught him to _think_ before he talks?”

Fergus chuckled, though his eyes slid briefly to Cullen and Rylen and back to her questioningly, apparently reassured by her slight smile. “Sometimes, yes. And with that performance, anyone trying to keep any rumors alive is going to have an uphill battle.”

“Sodding idiots.” About that time, Timur rejoined her, greeting Fergus like an old friend, then Anora called Fergus’s name, with a note of impatience to her summons. He nodded his acquiescence to Anora and took both of Surana’s hands this time, kissing them lightly.

“Duty calls. Will you be included in the tour this afternoon?”

“No, for the sake of keeping peace and goodwill. Besides, I’ll be training mid-afternoon with _him_.” She used her chin to indicate Rylen who abruptly had the look of someone desperately searching for an escape from the path of a charging bull when the Teryn surveyed him quickly before nodding at both men thoughtfully.

“Then I’ll see if their majesties can spare me and we’ll have to catch up.”

“I’d like that. I want to hear all about the family.”

Surana and Timur watched him rejoin the royals, smilingly winningly at Lady Josephine as he apologized. A surprising amount of the crowd had dispersed by this point, and Surana simply nodded at the two men and slipped away with Timur in the direction of the kitchens. Cullen parted from Rylen at the top of the stairs and walked toward his office thoughtfully. He’d found himself shying away from thinking about his feelings and reactions towards Surana since she’d arrived, and he still wasn’t certain what it was he felt. At least she didn’t seem to feel any awkwardness toward him this morning, though it was possible that she had been drunk enough that she didn’t remember exactly what she said. While he’d been a little unnerved by the idea of her visiting the Pearl, he found he wasn’t that bothered once he thought through what else she had said, even if it was a solution he would not have been comfortable with himself. But he’d lain in bed last night thinking of what she had said and remembered Leliana’s statement that Surana sometimes let things slip when she was drunk. He wondered if maybe, just maybe, Arisha herself had peeked out through those bitter, resigned words instead of the Warden Commander or the hero or even the mage Surana.


	13. Oil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Afternoon sparring and gossip

* * *

 

The formal luncheon had not only been tedious, but Cullen had found himself sandwiched between a Ferelden and an Orlesian who spent the entire meal not-so-subtly insulting each other. Directly across from Cullen was a dwarven negotiator from the merchant’s guild whose only interest appeared to be probing the nobles on either side of him for information on business conditions. The only redeeming quality to the situation was that at least he wasn’t terribly close to the head of the table with all the formalities involved with entertaining royals. Surprisingly, neither was Surana who looked far happier with her companions with whom she appeared familiar, an older Fereldan man on one side of her and a younger man who looked like his son on the other side of Timur, cheerfully offering bites from his plate to the mabari who accepted them with the dignity of a monarch receiving tribute. Cullen tried to ignore his dinner partners’ pettiness, reflecting with a grin to himself that at least with visiting _Fereldan_ dignitaries there had been no question that Timur would be seated at the table with Surana.

Josephine had limited most of the schedule for the first day to ceremonial and preliminary meetings and tours, partly to allow her time to meet with her counterpart, Bann Alfstanna, to iron out any differences in diplomatic priorities. Officially, of course, the Fereldens were here to pay their respects to the Divine-Elect, but it had been clear from the correspondence with Queen Anora that she, at least, wanted the relationship between Ferelden and this interloping power on their border formalized. However this also gave Cullen an excuse to bow out on the grounds that it was imperative that the Inquisition’s forces not only appear at their best today, but also that they maintain normal routines under such scrutiny.

He finally managed to release some of the accumulated tension from the unpleasant meal during his own vigorous training session that afternoon, then settled comfortably on the bench next to Timur to watch Surana and Rylen. Timur had barely settled his head under Cullen’s hand when a polite cough drew his attention from the sparring. Teryn Fergus stood a few feet away, looking somewhat apologetic and raising a hand as Cullen shifted as if to stand up. “Please, don’t disturb Timur on my account. Commander Cullen, I think? Fergus Cousland. I wondered if I might share your bench so I can watch without disturbing them?”

“Of course, your lordship.”

“Please, just Fergus when we aren’t in a formal meeting.” As he passed Cullen, the ex-Templar caught the honest whiff of ordinary oil and leather that he would expect from a soldier rather than a high-ranking noble. The greying man took a seat on the bench, back resting against the building and eyes on the two figures in the ring who were cheerfully goading each other. Cullen resumed his own evaluation of their match as his hand stroked Timur’s head unconsciously. As long as Surana didn’t use any offensive magic and Rylen didn’t drain her magic, the two were surprisingly well matched, and a spectator unaware that she was a mage might simply have taken this for an ordinary training bout between two expert combatants who knew each other’s limits and flaws. He was fairly certain that Rylen himself had no illusions about who would win in a serious contest, however. Yesterday, she’d demonstrated, cautiously, just what she could do with offensive magics supplementing her combat, and Cullen had concluded that _he_ wouldn’t want to try to overpower her without at least two Templars backing him. It wasn’t even that she was a powerful mage, though that had never been in doubt, as much as the canny, often original ways she used her magic in combat as well as her keen understanding of her opponent’s capabilities, insights that few mages had and fewer Templars would anticipate from a mage.

“They’re putting on a pleasant show, aren’t they?” Fergus’s voice was amused, and Cullen chuckled in response.

“That they are. Not that either of them is at all aware of their audience.”

His wry tone alerted the teryn, and Fergus turned his eyes up toward the balconies of Skyhold to see a score of people, both nobles and servants, leaning on railings to watch, then he noticed the others on the walls. “Is it always like this?”

“It had died down a bit after the first day or two; I assume most of the newcomers arrived with you.” Cullen realized that the man was observing him covertly, though not with any unfriendliness.

“Understandable, I suppose. I understand you were Ferelden-born and trained for the Templars here originally, Commander. Did you and Surana know each other before she was conscripted by Duncan?”

The noble’s use of the word ‘conscripted’ instead of ‘recruited’ captured Cullen’s attention, and he studied the man’s profile in turn, reflecting on the comfortable way Surana had greeted him that morning. “Yes, we did. I…was sent to the Freemarches not long after the blight ended, though, and we hadn’t seen each other again until she arrived a week ago.”

“I thought so.” He indicated Timur with his chin. “Her partner will coax food from almost anyone, but I doubt there are more than half a dozen people that the two of them trust _that_ much.” Startled, Cullen stared down at the mabari, but the mabari’s eyes remained stubbornly on the combatants, though he did let out a huff of breath that almost sounded disgusted, and Fergus chuckled in response. “Old friend, you played your part quite well this morning, you have my compliments on your sense of timing.” Timur raised his head and turned it for just a moment to meet the man’s eyes as if acknowledging the remark, then returned to watching the match, but Cullen was curious about the Teryn’s odd compliment.

“His part?” Fergus chuckled again.

“Haven’t you noticed that he is right there with her when she is giving people the “Hero of Ferelden” performance that they want and expect, either as the Hero’s Noble Mabari or breaking the tension at just the right moment by suddenly behaving like a puppy?” This time Timur shifted his head in Cullen’s lap just enough to give Fergus an obvious glare of disgust without moving out from under the hand still stroking his head, and Fergus guffawed loudly enough that a small group of nearby Templars who had volunteered to participate in Surana’s project switched their attention briefly from the pair in the ring to the men on the bench.

“‘Hero of Ferelden’ performance? That was _all_ an act this morning, Surana, Timur, you and their majesties?”

“Of course. She says people don’t want Arisha Surana or even the real Warden Commander; they want the Hero, and it’s easier to simply give them what they want and get on with her work. No one really _wants_ to think about what she does when she’s not being paraded through court. And His Majesty and Surana have made a point for years of addressing each other in front of the court as if they were a pair of old farmers who had a long running feud over a boundary and who are being icily polite when they meet in public. Helped bury old rumors that were so dead and decayed that they smelled like an overfull privy.” Timur snorted, this time apparently in agreement, then resumed watching the sparring pair who by this time had worked up quite a sweat.

“You speak like someone who knows her quite well, your lordsh…Fergus?” Cullen shifted to the noble’s name uncomfortably when the bearded older man raised an eyebrow in reminder.

“I owe her a great deal, and not just for her work in stopping the Blight.” Fergus spoke softly. “She brought Arl Howe to justice, the bastard who betrayed and killed my parents and sister, our retainers, my son and wife. The Arling of Amaranthine is also part of the Teynir of Highever, so while the Grey Wardens are independent of me, as Arlessa, she was still somewhat responsible to me for her management of those lands.”

“Is that how you know her, then?” Fergus met his eyes curiously, and Cullen shrugged. “I get the impression that she spent as little time in Denerim at court as she possibly could.”

“Accurate.” He watched as Surana landed a perfect shot to Rylen’s left hip, then barely managed to block the first of a flurry of blows he launched before she fell for a feint and he executed a matching shot to her hip. The two broke contact and backed to circling distance, laughing as they clearly tried to shake of the sting of the blows. “I was too overwhelmed with trying to restore Highever to offer her much help when she first assumed command at Vigil’s Keep. When word reached us of the attacks on Vigil’s Keep and Amaranthine, though…well, I sent what assistance I could and asked her to come to Highever Castle to meet with me to discuss what else they needed.” He grinned briefly at the pair who were engaged again, swords locked together, neither able to gain an inch on the other. “Until then, I was as guilty as everyone else in only seeing the Hero and not the person behind it. But I’m not quite such an idiot that I couldn’t see two minutes after she rode through our gate that she was stretched as tightly as a drawn bowstring and so exhausted she could barely keep her seat on her horse. I turned her over to my housekeeper with orders to make sure she got a hot bath, as much food as she and Timur could be coaxed into eating, and then sleep with a guard on her door to ensure no one disturbed them.”

“Hmm, how did Surana react to that?” Cullen’s lips twitched, envisioning a battle between her and an elderly battleaxe of a housekeeper.

“She was too exhausted to really argue right away, though she may have had some tart things to say about my highhandedness when she woke up the next day.” Fergus’s grin was fondly reminiscent as he watched the two circling, alert for openings. “I did convince her to stay for a few days to rest while I worked out plans to provide them with more help rebuilding, and once I convinced Surana that I wasn’t eying her as a trophy, she thawed a little.”

Perhaps the past week had accustomed him to the unexpected, but Cullen was curiously unsurprised to hear one of Ferelden’s highest ranking nobles speaking as candidly as Surana in complete confidence that Cullen would already know how she felt about that. Instead, he simply asked, “Considering how cynical the Warden-Commander is about most nobles, how did you manage that?”

The Ferelden noble didn’t answer for a few moments as they watched the pair close again in a flurry of blows that resulted in a laughing standoff as their blades locked. Surana suddenly managed to break away while leaving him slightly off balance, diving past him to roll and come to her feet, defenses in place before he could recover and land a blow. Her cocky grin answered Rylen’s surprise at this new move, and the Freemarcher roared with laughter. When Fergus spoke, his tone was wry. “You may have noticed she’s very good at keeping people at a distance or pushing them away? But I make no secret that I dearly loved, still love, my wife Oriana, and I think that let her trust me a little.” He shrugged, then studied the pair who had paused, leaning on their weapons to catch their breath as they apparently discussed the correct angle of a blow and the right snap of the wrist to carry it through with the most power behind it. “You don’t have to worry about him, you know.”

“I beg your pardon, your lordship?” The sudden shift in topic startled and confused Cullen. “Why would I worry about Rylen?”

The teryn kept his eyes fixed on Surana who was very slowly going through the motions of the sword blow they had been discussing as Rylen commented on her form. Gone was the laughter and cockiness of their sparring, replaced by a fierce intensity more appropriate to a trained hound following a scent, an analogy that was perhaps almost too appropriate given how thin and sharp-featured she looked at the moment. “Commander, tell me if I’m wrong, but did she start by making jokes with him, steered him into intense discussions of fighting, demonstrated that she is not only competent by normal standards, but frightening when she brings all of her skills together? Maybe went drinking with him, but in the way two soldiers do, swapping stories? Maybe generally got him to forget she was anything except another soldier?”

Cullen thought through the past week before slowly nodding. “You’re saying…she did that for a reason?”

“I’m saying that there are maybe four things in the world she is afraid of. She’ll tell you she doesn’t want to care for anyone too much because it’ll interfere with her judgement, but truthfully, she’s willing to use her own pain as a lash to make certain she never treats anyone’s life as disposable. But leaving someone behind to grieve for her when she dies?”

That oddly fit the few things she’d let slip to him, those moments when the bitterness in her voice made him believe he was hearing part of the truth under the performances. Timur stirred under his hand, and he began to scratch the mabari’s ears gently before he asked hesitantly. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I noticed during lunch how much time you spent watching her.” Cullen swallowed, uncomfortably wondering if he had really been so obvious, but Fergus clearly guessed his thoughts although his eyes were fixed firmly on the practice ring. “No, Commander, I was simply curious because Surana doesn’t trust many people. You may not have seen it, but she was just as aware of you, and not because she was offended.”

Cullen’s hand jerked to a halt as the meaning of the teryn’s words penetrated, then Timur sneezed, turning his head to give Fergus an unreadable stare. The Ferelden met the mabari’s dark eyes and they locked gazes for a very long moment. Then the human straightened slightly before his eyes flicked to the ring and back to the mabari’s who simply returned the stare in an exchange that Cullen missed as he was digesting the implications. Finally he began stroking Timur’s head again, his voice cautious.

“You said there were four things Surana fears?”

Fergus broke his staring competition with Timur to shrug, returning his attention to the ring where Surana was slowly increasing speed as Rylen spotted and corrected errors in form and stance, both too intent to notice the trio at the bench. “I suspect you already guess that she fears being shut back up in a circle. I know a third one, but…I swore to keep it to myself. And I know she has a fear that she’s never even told me. I think the person who learns all four will be the person who has overcome the first.”

Timur sneezed in some message that Cullen didn’t understand and began to watch the drill in the ring again, ignoring the teryn. Cullen struggled with the uncanny feeling that he’d somehow gained an ally in a fight he wasn’t even certain he wanted to fight. His feelings about Surana were almost as confusing as her sudden shifts in mood and personality, and he never seemed to have enough time to really try to untangle them. Just at that moment, the pair exited the ring, heading for the bench where they sat, both grinning with satisfaction at the workout and oblivious to the exchange they had interrupted. Fergus rose to offer Surana a linen towel and his place on the bench with a courtly flourish, blithely taking her sword from her as Cullen passed both combatants a water skin. Surana mock glared at Fergus when he began nonchalantly inspecting her blade and wiping it with an oiled cloth.

“Do I suddenly look incompetent, your lordship?” Her tone was tart, but Fergus ignored it blithely.

“You were having altogether too much fun putting on a show out there, both of you.”

Rylen seemed a little wary in being included by the noble, but Surana grinned before holding out her hand for her sword. “Well, we did decide that discretion was best today, so no overt magic or Templar’s abilities.”

“Which of course let you keep using your magic to improve your fighting, making _me_ look incompetent.” Rylen retorted.

“And what part of that was a surprise?” Timur huffed a sigh as they laughed, then slowly got up to move close enough to put his head in Surana’s lap. Once she had her sword sheathed, she raised a quizzical eyebrow at Fergus. “So, I assume I’m forgiven enough for my absence to hear the news. How are the children? They should be four and two and a half, now, I think?”

“Eleanor is four and a half, as she reminds everyone constantly, and the last time I saw her, she asked when her auntie ‘Risha was going to visit again.”

“Fenedhis, she can’t possibly remember me, she was only two the last time I saw her!”

“I won’t vouch for that, but she still carries the griffon head stick horse you gave her everywhere and sleeps with her stuffed mabari every night. Possibly she just remembers the name of the person who gave her the gifts, but I wouldn’t count on that. I’m almost certain she remembers the promise of a bow for her fifth birthday that someone made rather rashly.”

“And Bryce?” The tips of Surana’s ear turned just slightly pink, apparently embarrassed by the child’s devotion and the Teryn’s gentle teasing.

“Growing faster than we can get new clothes made for him and determined to climb everything in the castle. We had to get a ladder to get him down from the top of a bookcase a month or so ago, and we now have someone watching him constantly. Reminds me more of my sister every day.” There was a note of sadness in his voice that made Cullen feel almost like he was intruding on something very private, and Surana touched his forearm lightly for just a moment, almost comfortingly.

“And your Teyrna?”

“Quite well and deep in some new project with our archivist.” About that time, a messenger approached, pausing at a distance in deference to the Fereldan noble, but clearly anxious about the folded paper in his hand. With a sigh, Cullen excused himself to read the message, a polite but firm request that he present himself in Josephine’s office for a meeting with their majesties. As he left, feeling vaguely resentful at the disturbance to his routine, he glanced back over his shoulder to catch Arisha’s eyes on him before she firmly locked her attention on the friendly discussion between Fergus and Rylen. _Maker's breath, does anything about this make sense?_

* * *

* * *

My apologies for how long it's taking between chapters, but real life got real, and I got stuck on a couple of bits. I think the next chapter will be out a little more quickly.

I know most people write mabaris as only slightly brighter than usual dogs, but I've rather run with what was suggested in DAO - that mabari really are smart enough to understand a lot of what people say. After all he plays pranks on people in DAO, manipulates people, and understands a lot of what's said about and to him (Wynne and the bath, for instance, or the conversation about the small boy who follows him back to you in the Denerim marketplace.) I aged Timur from that playful pranksterish young mabari to one who's been someone's confidant and most trusted friend for many years.


	14. Perfume and Poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Music, dancing, and Orlesians

* * *

Late that afternoon as the meeting Cullen had been forced to sit through ended, Josephine announced delightedly that there would be entertainment in the main hall after dinner, including informal performances, music, and dancing. Before he could escape after the meeting, Leliana cornered Cullen and firmly but politely made it clear that he and Rylen were both expected to attend. She grinned wickedly at his sour expression, then added, “At least you’re allowed to wear armor and stay on the sidelines, Commander. Surana has been informed she will attend properly attired for court and dance for at least part of the evening. And not just with old Bann Sighard.” She watched him until it sank in and he began rubbing his neck uncomfortably. “I will see you this evening, Commander,” and the red-head walked away with a smirk.

* * *

Predictably, Cullen and Rylen arrived together and found a defensive post on a bench along one wall, well away from the dais at the end. They sat nursing mugs of weak ale as the musicians tuned their instruments, talking in low tones about the day’s business while they tried to stay unnoticed. Leliana's remarks about Surana had teased Cullen even as he realized she had intended it to, but he tried not to watch for the mage overtly. He had no great faith in his own subtlety though, and hoped no one was watching him as they chatted. Then Surana and Timur stepped into view around a knot of Orlesian nobles who were gossiping nearby, her face lighting up in relief as she saw them, and they politely rose to greet her as the cloying perfume of the Orlesians trailed after her.

Her dress was a simpler version of one of the current fashions of the Orlesian court, done in imitation of a Grey Warden’s colors. The overskirt was made from a silver-and-white subdued silk brocade which parted in front to reveal a smoky sapphire underskirt of heavy satin. Both were a little shorter than the current fashion and while full enough for movement, they were not elaborately built over a frame or stiffened with underskirts like many that forced everyone to navigate around their fashionable wearer. The high-necked bodice of a matching blue trimmed with embroidered bands in subtle silver patterns was snugly tailored, yet somehow seemed to blur rather than accent her shape. By contrast, the short capped sleeves revealed the warm brown of thin arms crossed with jagged lines of scars that echoed those Cullen knew were concealed by the short blue silk glove he saw on the left hand resting on Timur’s head.

When he saw the scars on her arms, Cullen’s eyes sought hers questioningly only to be arrested by the discovery that the blue collar framing her face had transformed her steely bluish-grey eyes into a softer pale smoky blue. While he might know little about women’s clothing, he had the oddest feeling that she had obstinately chosen a dress that concealed what most women of court displayed and revealed what others might have concealed, particularly emphasizing her differences as an elf. He thought that the dress was meant to be dismissed as a rather uninspired, even drab, court adaptation of a Grey Warden’s livery to anyone who did not meet her eyes, but once he had, he suddenly hoped he’d never see her in another dress. _How had he never noticed just how…accepting her eyes could be? How could a dress transform them from ice to fire?_

Beside him, Rylen seemed oblivious to Cullen’s reaction as he began to chuckle with a rumble that started deep inside him. “By Andraste, Surana, you not only do own a dress, but you managed to get someone to sew it over leather armor!”

Cullen suddenly understood just why the dress seemed both fitted but formless. Even when he realized that Surana expected his eyes to drop to confirm what Rylen had noticed, he resolutely kept his on the mage’s, though he honestly had no wish to look away from those warm eyes. He saw a flicker of surprise in her eyes before she grinned cockily at Rylen, chin slightly thrust out. “Why not? I’m here as a Grey Warden, not as a noble.” Her eyes dropped to her scarred right arm and glove-covered hand that rested on the pommel of her sword, then she shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt to remind them that I don’t usually spend my time being showered with flowers and posing for the court.” Smokey blue eyes met amber again, now a little uncertainly, and he felt something inside him tighten in response.

“Good! And that blue is rather nice, don’t you think, Commander?”

“Lovely.” The word slipped out without thinking, then Cullen blinked. “I mean, um, I really like that shade of blue, Warden-Commander.”

At that moment, Teryn Fergus stepped past the knot of Orlesians who were gossiping quietly a few feet away, and a wide smile lit his face as he saw them. “Ah, there you are!” When he was close enough, he took Surana’s right hand gracefully and kissed it briefly, a look of pure mischief in his eyes as he bent over her hand with a very faint whiff of a much lighter scent than the Orlesians' perfumes. “My dear Warden-Commander, it is always a delight when you grace us, but I must say your ability to use clothing as a weapon has not diminished in the least. Has the Divine-elect seen what you’re wearing yet?” Surana snorted softly as she drew her hand free.

“And I see your talent for not actually saying anything is as charming as ever, your lordship.”

The Teryn straightened and offered his hand to Timur in greeting before bowing slightly to the two men. “Timur, gentlemen, it’s good to see you. I must say the Inquisition’s ambassador is amazingly organized to have put something like this together in such a short time.”

Despite the flashes of the courtier, or at least the veneer of one, when he spoke to Surana, Cullen found something about the noble refreshingly open and direct, even likeable. “Knowing Lady Josephine, I would guess she had planned for a dozen possibilities for tonight and simply put the appropriate plans in motion once she actually met their majesties.”

“All the while making it look effortless.” Fergus glanced down the room toward the slight dais where the Inquisitor’s throne had been replaced with several elegant chairs, each in front of a banner with the arms of Ferelden, the Inquisition, or the Chantry. The Inquisitor’s chair was a bit taller than the others with a small step stool which put her head was on a level with Anora and Alistair on either side of her. “She already has quite the reputation as a diplomat. Your Inquisitor is more unexpected, however; I’m not certain even Anora knows quite what to make of her yet.”

Just at that moment, Maryden and the musicians Josephine had engaged struck the first notes of a dance tune, one definitely more Ferelden in its liveliness than the Orlesians favored. Fergus turned back to the group and raised an eyebrow at Surana who suddenly was displaying a trace of that slightly mulish obstinance from this morning. “I assume you have orders to make a proper appearance?” He chuckled at her tart, impolite response then inclined his head at Cullen and Rylen. “Gentlemen, it seems only fair to offer you the chance to ask the Warden-Commander to dance first since you were here when I arrived?”

“Not unless you want us to disgrace the Inquisition since neither of us know a step of the dances.” Rylen spoke first, and Surana didn’t quite meet Cullen’s eyes again when he remained silent.

“In that case, since I also have my orders…Warden-Commander?” He half-bowed, offering his arm gracefully to Surana who hesitated just long enough to stroke Timur’s head.

“Commander, Knight-Captain, would you mind keeping Timur company? Somehow I don’t think Lady Josephine would appreciate him tripping the dancers.”

“Of course.” This time Cullen spoke first and her eyes met his again briefly with a flash of gratitude, then she was taking the arm Fergus offered, eyes turned away.

“I hope you wore your heavy boots, or have you forgotten what a terrible dancer I am?”

As he led her out to join the small number of couples, the two men heard the Teryn laugh. “My dear Warden-Commander, you don’t weigh enough for me to even feel you stepping on my feet.”

Timur made a noise very like a snort, then slowly walked to the bench the two men had occupied before Surana’s arrival. Taking this as something of a royal command, Cullen and Rylen resumed their seats. Timur promptly put his head in Cullen’s lap in a now-familiar bid for attention, eyes on the middle of the room where Fergus was expertly guiding Surana through the steps as if he had a great deal of experience at keeping a partner’s sword from catching on anyone else’s clothing. Then again, he was Ferelden, perhaps he did. The two men sat in silence, Cullen too distracted by his strong reaction to Surana to notice that Rylen was glancing at him from time to time with just the trace of a speculative smile. Then faintly affronted words floated from the other side of the nearby knot of Orlesians.

“Is that really the Teryn dancing in public with an _elf_? I knew Fereldens were uncouth, but do they really dance with their trollops?”

Another voice answered, feigning boredom. “Take another look at his partner, my dear. That’s the Hero of Ferelden.”

A third, male voice, fashionably caustic, drifted from their direction. “It’s hard to recognize her without that smelly beast who trails around after her! The teryn? Is that why the bitch is so cold; she’s already whoring for a Ferelden noble? He could at least have bought his slut something better than that dreadful dress.”

Cullen went rigid, but before he could move, Timur had his hand between his jaws, holding it gently but firmly, eyes fixed on the ex-Templar.

The bored voice spoke again, in a tone of droll amusement now. “My dear, aren’t you being sent to the Fereldan court next winter to negotiate for your family’s interests? If so, may I strongly recommend that you not say anything of the sort about her or that mabari in front of Fereldens if you want to accomplish anything. Even the ones who detest her will take offense for Ferelden’s sake. They _might_ even guess that you’re bitter because she humiliated you. You certainly wouldn't be the first.”

The two men watched silently as a masked Orlesian man left the half-visible group in a huff, then a new male voice asked in amusement, “My dear, you were exiled to the Fereldan court for _years_ , and we all saw how he greeted her in the courtyard today. Is she his mistress?”

The bored voice chuckled. “I really don’t know, but I rather doubt it. It’s an open secret that he and his teryna haven’t shared a room since the day they were married, almost Orlesian of them, though they seem on friendly enough terms. It certainly wouldn’t be any scandal, even in Ferelden, if it was suspected that the Warden-Commander was his mistress since he has already produced his heirs. Besides, he has the choice of much more beautiful _elves_ than her if that’s where his tastes lie.” Something in the way the word _elves_ dripped from the speaker’s mouth angered Cullen almost as much as the bitter man’s insults; it was so clearly meant to be a more polite word for the same things he’d called her. There was a pause as if the speaker was drinking or eating something, then she went on. “When the teryn was still being pursued by every eligible woman at court before he remarried, she would suddenly appear to pry him out of their clutches for a ‘dancing lesson’ while they all glared after her. And he had a knack for appearing close by when someone was making a nuisance of himself. He never said or did anything; I rather thought he was providing her with a witness no one would challenge. If there was ever anything more to it than that, they hid it better than any lovers I’ve ever known.”

“And no one is better than you at spotting the potential for gossip.” The first voice, no longer affronted, spoke in tones that could either have been admiration or polite sarcasm.

“Since it was the reason I was exiled to Denerim for years, I’d be denying the obvious.”

The conversation wandered into pointed critique of the clothing and manners of the Fereldens in attendance, and Timur let go of Cullen’s hand, letting out a huff of breath as his eyes sought out the pair on the dance floor. Rylen leaned a bit closer, his tone artificially light.

“So, Commander, I suppose poison might upset the lady Ambassador, but have you considered pointing out certain Orlesians to Sera? Because the idea of her putting her talent for ‘jokes’ to use suddenly has a lot of appeal.”

Cullen met his eyes for a moment, then glanced down to see Timur watching the two men to see that he had their attention before he sneezed in amusement. “I think the three of us are in agreement. Maker’s breath, I had no idea it was really like that. I mean, she’s mentioned it, but…” He sighed, trying to let go of some of his anger. “I suppose it doesn’t say a lot for me that I assumed it wasn’t _that_ overt, at least.”

“Surana strikes me as more likely to omit things than exaggerate them, Commander. Frankly, I’d rather spend six months in the Western Approach or the Roaring Wastes than two evenings in the company of nobles, and I’m not an elf.”

* * *

Fergus guided Surana around the room, his expression outwardly light. “Well! Alone at last, or close enough. My dear Warden-Commander, you vanish for two years and reappear unexpectedly looking as if you haven’t eaten in a month, absolutely wrecking Lady Josephine and Queen Anora’s decorous ceremonies, and setting the entire Ferelden entourage whispering about your mysterious reappearance instead of the Inquisition and their Orlesian allies.”

“Didn’t you once tell me I should try harder to keep people guessing? Regretting your own advice?”

“Hmm, I suppose I did.” He held the lightly amused expression in place, but his eyes were concerned as he studied her face. “Since you’re back, I take it you found what you were looking for?”

“I…don’t know. It may be that it reverses the Joining slowly.” Her eyes avoided his, and he changed subjects abruptly.

“And you’ve been busy renewing old acquaintances in the past week as well, I see.” Surana looked back up, puzzled. “Commander Cullen, he was a Templar at Kinloch while you were still an apprentice.”

“I see you two chatted while Rylen and I sparred today.” Anyone not close enough to see her eyes would have thought she was amused.

“Every time I’ve seen you today, he’s been close to you or watching you, and except when you were sparring, you have known exactly where he was and what he was doing. Timur didn’t even leave him to say hello to me while we watched you spar. When I approached just now, he rather looked as if he’d just been struck with a club, not that I blame him when you wear that shade of blue. The other Templar, it was easy to see what wall you put between him and you, but not the Commander.”

Surana’s step faltered a little, just enough to make her next step or two slightly out of sync, though not enough to stumble or to actually step on the Teryn’s feet, but she remained silent.

“You care about him, don’t you? Maybe more than you admit to yourself.”

“Please don’t.” She recovered her poise, but looked over his shoulder rather than meet his eyes.

“Timur likes him, trusts him.” The noble added shrewdly.

“Fergus…” She dropped her voice so low that even if another couple had brushed up against them, they would have had difficulty hearing the plea in her voice, and the Teryn dropped his voice to match.

“Arisha, he’s not one of your wardens, you don’t need to drive him away, especially if you’ve found a cure.”

“Fergus, it’s not like that.” The artificial smile she had worn since they took the dance floor slipped a little, though someone would have had to be close to them and watching intently to notice.

“Look me in the eye and deny it.” He could feel the thin body in his arms stiffen almost to rigidity. “You can’t, can you?”

“It doesn’t matter how I feel. It doesn’t even matter how he feels. What matters is that I’m the last person he needs in his life just as he’s finally putting the pieces back together.”

Fergus’s voice stayed low, but carried a note of cajoling. “I can’t understand if you won’t tell me.”

“I can’t. Just take it that someone once used me to hurt him.”

“Arisha, you need someone. I don’t want to think about what you’ll do when…”

“No. Please, I don’t want to talk about it. And I won’t.” She blinked several times quickly, then fixed her own polite smile firmly back in place and met his eyes obstinately.

“Alright, then. But you, more than anyone, should know what the new Divine would say, that the Maker wants all of his children to be happy.” Long experience with court had kept a light, smiling expression on his face, and to any observers, he might simply have engaged in an amusing courtly flirtation.

Surana snorted bitterly. “The Maker made me an elf and a mage, then let me be forced into the Joining and threw me at an archdemon, and those may have been the high points. I may be doing what he wanted, but somehow I don’t think my happiness has been his priority. Or have you forgotten that the few times I’ve let someone close to me, your lordship, I’ve been forced to choose to sacrifice them for everyone else’s best interests?”

“Not me, though.”

“You have your own walls, your lordship.”

The teryn’s hand tightened slightly on the hand he held in his, just a gentle pressure. “Well, at least for a few days, I’m here if you need me, Warden-Commander.”

* * *

* * *

 


	15. Midnight Lily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timur, more dancing, and a heart-to-heart

* * *

* * *

The unexpected advantages to “keeping a mabari company” emerged as soon as the first Orlesian courtier showed signs of approaching the bench where the two men sat. Timur began growling softly, a rumble deep in his chest that grew louder until the woman changed direction with a sniff and a brief backwards pout in the blond man’s direction before she flounced away through the crowd. Cullen found himself fervently resolving to bribe the cooks into making a huge bowl of the fried tidbits that the mabari loved. To his relief, Rylen chose not to mention Timur’s performance though Timur himself briefly met Cullen’s eyes with a look that he could only describe as smug.

At the end of that song, Fergus returned Surana to the two ex-Templars, innocently helping her take a seat between them on the bench before making his apologies. Timur shifted so his body was directly in front of her while his head remained in Cullen’s lap for a minute or so longer. His warden partner regarded him suspiciously as she realized that she was effectively trapped between the two men until the old mabari finally moved his head to her lap. Slowly, though, they began to relax, discussing their progress with the first mage-Templar pairs’ training while from time to time they all amusedly observed Timur repeat some variation on his earlier performance as others attempted to approach, intent on one or another of them. A few of the Fereldens were allowed close enough to converse briefly with Surana but were kept physically at a distance by the mabari.

Thanks to Timur, the three passed a quiet half hour cheerfully immersed in negotiating training routines and gear requisitions until the musicians began playing a very slow, sedate tune and the greying gentleman and the younger man who had been Surana’s luncheon partners approached their bench. Instead of growling or baring his teeth or slobbering (an act which had been particularly—and amusingly—effective with one too-fashionably dressed Orlesian courtier,) the mabari made a soft _woof_ as he rose and walked stiffly forward to be greeted by the pair, followed by Surana who quickly introduced Bann Sighard and his son Oswin to her companions. Oswin then bowed elegantly to Surana.

“Milady Warden Commander, may I have this dance?”

“Of course, milord.” This time she didn’t ask aloud, merely glanced at Timur, then Cullen, and smiled in response to his nod. She took the young man’s hand and the pair walked slowly out onto the floor where Cullen noticed there was an odd halting quality to his tread that suggested an old injury. The older man watched them go with a fond smile, then nodded to the two men.

“Please, gentlemen, I didn’t mean to disturb you.” He gave Timur’s head a last scratch and straightened. “I suspect this old warrior will be annoyed with me if I keep you from providing him with a comfortable lap for his head.” Timur sneezed at him in laughter, and the two ex-Templars resumed their seats on the bench.

“You’re friends with the Warden Commander, then, milord?” Rylen and Sighard watched with amusement as Timur resumed his spot, head in Cullen’s lap but turned at an angle that let him watch Surana and Oswin revolving serenely and soberly through the growing crowd of dancers.

“I would like to think she would permit us to claim that distinction, but you may have noticed that she isn’t inclined to trust most nobles, or anyone else for that matter.” Sighard was now studying the two men with a lively and open curiosity. “You are the commander and his second in command, I believe, the two who are working with Surana to try to build a force that can replace the Templars?”

Cullen nodded warily. “Yes, milord. How did you…?” He broke off as the Ferelden chuckled.

“Gossip travels faster than wildfire through a court, Commander, especially when it involves Ferelden’s Warden Commander. I must say, I was relieved to see that she had three defenders this evening instead of one, however fierce Timur may normally appear, but I admit I’m quite impressed that you two have won her trust so quickly if she’s only been here nine or ten days.” His eyes rested speculatively on Timur’s head in Cullen’s lap and there was clearly an unspoken question behind his words, recalling Fergus’s words to Cullen about how few people Timur trusted. He couldn’t help but wonder how many others had been struck by the mabari’s apparent affection, and his hand paused for a split second on Timur’s head before he answered the nobleman cautiously.

“The Warden Commander and I met over a decade ago, though this is the first time we’ve been in the same place since the end of the blight.” He thought about adding that it was a complete accident that they were here at the same time, but he was fairly certain by now that it was no such thing. Leliana had intentionally failed to warn Surana that he was there as well as keeping her pending arrival a closely guarded secret from him.

“I’m not sure she trusts me as much as she trusts the Commander’s judgement.” Rylen piped in nonchalantly. “Though by now we’ve spent enough time sparring and working together to have a fairly good measure of each other.”

“Not to mention your drinking parties in the evenings.” Cullen couldn’t resist the mild jibe, and Rylen laughed cheerfully.

“When do you think we do our planning, Commander? Though I admit the officers have coaxed her into trading a certain number of what Varric would refer to as ‘no shit, there we were’ stories. Not usually about great battles she’s been in; I’ve noticed she avoids mentioning the final battles during the blight. Mostly she has funny stories involving a drunken dwarven warden, a rather cocky Antivan assassin, and, if we can believe her, a golem named Shale.”

The Fereldan noble chuckled. “I’ve met Shale, and I doubt any story can match the reality. The court may never recover from a visit not long after the end of the blight when she caught someone annoying the Warden Commander and tossed him out a window. From the first floor, fortunately.” His eyes wandered back to the dance floor to his son and Surana. “I can’t say how glad _I_ am, at least, to discover that she is alive and well; it had been so long that it was hard to continue to believe that we would ever see her again. Oswin was delighted to have the chance to show her how much he’s recovered.”

“You’re suggesting not everyone was pleased to find that she had returned, aren’t you?” Cullen tactfully ignored the last comment, speaking softly, but the noble simply shrugged.

“No one leads a country out of a civil war and a blight without making enemies, and not just the Traitor’s allies. Some people have short memories and resent that a commoner has the ear not only of our king and queen, however uncomfortable their relationship may be, but also of their most trusted advisors and the friendship of the highest ranking noble left in Ferelden. The fact she has absolutely no interest in exploiting that influence escapes them, and now they think she is here to expand her influence outside Ferelden.” Sighard’s eyes met each of theirs briefly in turn before studying Timur’s head in Cullen’s lap, but as he opened his mouth to add something, a Fereldan officer approached, politely clearing his throat, and apologized as he told Bann Sighard that their majesties requested his attendance immediately, if possible. He quickly concealed mild annoyance and bowed to the ex-Templars to excuse himself, leaving the Fereldan officer to greet Timur cautiously. The officer then hesitantly introduced himself to Cullen and Rylen and wondered if it would be possible to ask a few questions about the Inquisition’s forces.

* * *

As the evening’s entertainments began to wind down, Fergus reappeared by the bench where several more of the Inquisition and Fereldan officers had gathered to exchange stories with the trio and pay a cautious tribute to Timur. He bowed politely to the group before smiling at Surana charmingly. “My dear Warden Commander, their majesties have retired, and I wondered if I might steal you away to catch up a little.”

Timur rose, clearly anticipating that Surana would agree, and in fact she rose gracefully, nodding thanks to the group who had cleared a space for the noble. “Of course, your lordship. I suspect that ‘catching up’ may include a politely worded demand for more information from her majesty?”

Fergus raised an amused eyebrow as he offered her his arm. “As direct as ever, I see.”

Timur moved to her left side as she took the noble’s arm. “Did you think two years traveling alone through wilderness with a mabari for company would somehow turn me into a courtier, your lordship? If so, we need to check what herbs someone’s slipping into your food and drink.” Her eyes met Cullen’s briefly as she said goodnight and allowed the noble to guide her toward the main door to the hall and out into the night.

* * *

“So, was I right that Anora demanded you get answers from me? Or was it Alistair?” Fergus handed Surana onto a bench along the wall downwind from the gardens, a spot well-lit by nearby torches and fragrant with the spicy sweet scent of a night-blooming lily, then took a seat on the other side of Timur from her.

“Both, actually, though I wouldn’t quite go so far as ‘demand.’ Asked me to coax information out of you might be more accurate.”

She laughed softly. “I wonder if either of them have ever worked out that you simply come to me and tell me what you’re supposed to coax out of me.”

“Since it works well enough, does it matter?” He grinned cheekily back at her. “I suspect you’ve already told me as much as you’re willing to about your trip so I’ll tell them you told me “grey warden business” and threatened to leave me with icicles on my nose if I persisted. Let’s see…after she saw you, the Inquisitor asked Lady Josephine if she could have a new formal uniform made over leather armor; I don’t believe the ambassador was amused.” Surana chuckled as she gently stroked Timur’s head in her lap. “I suspect the Divine-Elect plans to have words with you about that dress. I just thought you should be warned before she and the ambassador surprise you with a fitting for something they feel is more appropriate, though I told her I thought it was quite effective myself. I wasn’t going to mention the rather stunned look on the Commander’s face since you clearly are trying to pretend you are indifferent to him.”

“Fergus, dammit, don’t.” She scowled at him, exasperated.

“Arisha, if you don’t care for him, why haven’t you pushed him away more firmly, the way you have that young man from Starkhaven? You may be a horrible liar, but you have more than enough thorns to keep someone at a distance when you want. And you haven’t.”

She scowled, eyes fixed on Timur’s head. Fergus waited patiently in silence, confident that she would be unable and unwilling to lie now that they were both alone, however carefully and visibly public. Finally, she spoke softly without meeting his eyes. “I don’t know how to do it without hurting him.”

“And you aren’t willing to hurt him.” It was a simple statement, not a question.

“I can’t. I look at him and I see a kind young Templar, then I see…vashedan, I can’t.” She grimaced. “I can’t hurt him intentionally even if it might hurt him more if I don’t.”

“For two years, you let go of that act, stopped playing the remote, cold Warden Commander who needs no one, and now you can’t quite put it back in place, can you?” His voice was gentle, but she just shook her dark head.

“I’m fine, Fergus. I have…” Rylen would have recognized the mulish stubbornness in her expression and voice from that morning’s mild rebellion, but Fergus showed no sign that her sharp tone bothered him, interrupting in a tone just as sharp in what sounded like a well-rehearsed and familiar argument.

“Timur. Dammit, Arisha, you two may have one of the best partnerships I’ve ever seen with a mabari, but he’s still a mabari!” The graying man visibly forced himself to relax the hands gripping his knees. “You can listen to your heart sometimes, you know.”

“That’s not something you learn in the Circle, Fergus, love, trust.” She shrugged. “The one time I listened to my heart instead of my head, oh, that fucking worked out well, didn’t it? A broken heart, a king who watched me mournfully every time he saw me for a year or more, and a reputation as his sodding mistress without the pleasures of actually being one.”

Fergus snorted. “Only a few complete fools have even whispered that rumor for at least five or six years, it’s deader than Arl Howe. They’re much more likely to whisper that you’re my mistress now, you know.”

That provoked an outright giggle out of her, breaking her grim mood. “Fenhedis, if only they knew! Well, let them whisper. It does neither you nor I any harm, though I’d like to have heard your Teyrna when someone tried to whisper that to her.”

“By the man her family had been pressuring her to marry when she and I announced that we were betrothed, no less. I understand she scorched his hair. Verbally, of course.”

The elven woman smothered another giggle. “If I recall the details, he probably deserved more than that. I’ll have to get her version of it the next time I see her. Though Maker's balls, I could point out that you’re a fine one to be lecturing me about letting people close to you, Fergus.”

“It isn’t the same thing and you know it, Arisha. I love my children dearly, I have Highever, and I do have many good friends, including you and Timur.” He reached across to rest his hand over hers on Timur’s head. “But you, you have no real home, and Timur’s the only one you really trust.”

“I trust you.” He raised an eyebrow skeptically and she laughed, slipping her hand out from under his to pat it affectionately, then she rotated her shoulders as if to release tension, inhaling deeply of the scent of lily blowing toward them from the gardens. “Alright, I trust you to a point. But you’re right that I don’t really have a home. Certainly not Kinloch Hold or the alienage, and I was never at Vigil’s Keep or in Denerim for more than a few days at a time. I admit, when I thought of Ferelden while I was gone, the only place I really missed was Highever, playing with little Eleanor, but that’s your home, not mine. But maybe home is something you carry with you.” Arisha and Timur’s eyes locked. “I felt…at home tonight when I was sitting there with Timur and surrounded by soldiers.”

Fergus petted Timur for a moment, then drew his hand back. “You did look as if you were enjoying yourself more than I’ve ever seen you at a court entertainment before. Though representations were made to the Lady Ambassador and the Inquisitor that Timur was a dangerous beast who did not belong in polite company, complaints that were immediately dropped when their majesties became vocally outraged on his behalf.” Surana snickered as Timur lifted his head to snort briefly. “He must have been putting on quite the performance tonight.”

Timur met Surana’s eyes then sneezed in laughter. “Hmm, I _might_ have heard a rumor that certain courtiers admire the Inquisition’s Commander so much that they have cornered him in the past with no polite way to escape. He’s neither Orlesian nor accustomed to the court, after all. Timur, however, isn’t hampered by fears of offending a high ranking bitch of a noble, and I may have mentioned in Timur’s hearing that I wished there was some tactful means to ensure the Commander had a pleasant evening free of such…impositions.” Timur wheezed, then licked her hand affectionately.

“Which would appeal to Timur’s sense of humor even if he hadn’t clearly claimed the Commander as one of ‘his’ people, while my invitation to dance provided an opportunity to attach Timur to him indirectly for the evening. Well done! I think you're the only person I've ever known who has successfully used a mabari as an agent in court. And you say you have no talent for court intrigue, my dear Warden.” Fergus leaned back against the wall, laughing softly.

“Exactly, though never in quite this way before. Not that you have any reason to complain.” Surana’s grin was smug. “It’s a small enough thing to do for him as long as we could do it without hurting his pride." Timur settled back in with an expression that was just as smug as his partner's. "And you, my friend, were magnificent.” 

* * *

* * *

 


	16. Torches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen wrestles with himself and tries to piece things together (I'm terrible at writing summaries, forgive me.)

* * *

 

The young woman stepped closer, so close he could almost feel her brush against him and the scent of rosewater and violets surrounded him. But this time ( ** _this_** _time?_ ) he wasn’t wearing armor, just a simple shirt and pants, and as he realized that, suddenly the soft, seductive young woman in a mage’s robe shimmered. In her place was someone older, with sharp edges and severely braided hair, snug leather armor that hid more than it hinted and steely blue-grey eyes that watched him calmly, a woman who might have been the remote and disciplined cousin of the rosewater-and-violet seductress, familiar and yet not. Memory tugged at him ( _Surana, this is the real Surana! Then who…or what…was that?_ ) and he inhaled instinctively, the sweetly seductive perfume now replaced by a familiar scent of storm pine resin backed by a hint of woodsmoke.

“Surana?”

“Commander? Is something wrong?” _There! Surana never used his name alone. How had I never noticed that before?_

“I don’t know. I was…having one of the old nightmares, then suddenly you were here. It…is you, isn’t it?” A dream…he had been…was?...dreaming, but for the first time it had changed ( _Maker, thank you for sparing me the sight of her body at my feet again, her blood on my sword...._ ) If he wasn’t still dreaming, though, how had they gotten here, wherever here was? Somehow he couldn’t look away from her to identify their oddly lit surroundings.

Coolly, she rested a hand on his arm, a firm impersonal touch that still sent a surprising surge of heat through him, and he inhaled sharply. “You feel real to me, Commander.” He met her blue-grey eyes, and suddenly she was wearing that oddly beautiful blue dress that abruptly warmed her eyes. Without thinking, he moved closer to slide one arm gently around her thin frame, holding her against him while he ran a single light finger down the line of a thin scar on her cheek to brush that finger across her lips. Lips that weren’t full, soft, and red like the desire demon, but a little thin and pale, slightly roughened as if she’d been out in a windstorm, but as his finger touched them, they parted slightly and he felt more than heard her inhale sharply in turn. Grey-blue eyes closed as his finger rested gently on her lips, and when they opened, there was no trace of her cool remoteness. For just a moment, some naked emotion burned in that gaze before she turned her head and closed her eyes again. “I can’t be what you want, Commander.”

“How do you know that?” He stroked her cheek lightly, then cupped it in his hand, and for just a second he felt Arisha lean into his hand before she stiffened.

“All those years ago Duncan recognized a wolf bitch hiding as a lap dog, one they could leash for the Wardens, body and soul, but that leash had a price.” Suddenly she was wearing a Warden’s mage armor, with a staff strapped to her back instead of her sword, and past her he could finally see an intersection of foul-smelling tunnels, flickering with the light of torches broken by pockets of torch smoke and shadows where he couldn’t see but could sense _things_ moving. Abruptly he found he couldn’t move his feet as she stepped backwards away from him, pulling free of him one step at a time, resigned eyes locked with his. “Payment always comes due in the end, Commander.” As she neared one of the pockets of darkness, clawed hands reached out of the shadows to seize her shoulders and arms, dragging her backwards until she was gone, leaving him standing alone and unable to do anything except fall to his knees…

* * *

* * *

_Maker’s breath!_ Cullen jerked upright, gasping in panic as he discovered he still couldn’t move his legs even as he tried to orient himself to his surroundings. His heart pounded as the faint hint of dawn lit his room and he forced himself to relax. Somehow in his sleep, he had wound his sheet around his legs. He took deep breaths until he was calm enough to unwind the sheet successfully, then he sat on the edge of the bed, blankets wrapped around him as he forced himself to relax.

For a dozen years he’d had the same nightmare, a flashback to the attempts by a desire demon to break him at Kinloch Hold, and the dream had never varied. Until now. It was the only one of Cullen's nightmares that had persistently played out through the end without him being able to break out of it or change it, but this was definitely not an improvement.

 _Think, you idiot. If the dream changed, it must mean something. If just seeing her again for the first time since I left Kinloch had caused the dream, I would have had the dream much sooner. So, why now?_ Unbidden, he heard Teryn Fergus’s voice, “You may not have seen it, but she was just as aware of you, and not because she was offended.” Her own bitter words that were eerily echoed in Fergus’s assessment of her fear. The irritation he felt when he saw Bull’s eyes assessing her, the flirtatious way Fergus greeted her, even the comfortable humor between her and Rylen. The unexpected surge of fury he’d felt when he’d overheard the nobles insulting her. The tightness in his chest _and, admit it, elsewhere,_ when he’d first looked into her eyes in that blue dress. Her surprise when he was more captivated by her eyes than curious about the shapelessness of her dress… _considering what you overheard, can you be surprised that she’d want to hide anything that might encourage_ their _attention?_

The elven apostate Solas— _now there’s a mystery Leliana still hasn’t been able to solve!—_ had once given him a short treatise, no more than a few pages, on dreaming and finding meaning in dreams. The man had offered it very diffidently, with no comment on why he thought Cullen might find it of interest, but surely it was no surprise that a mage who wandered the Fade in his dreams and talked freely with spirits might have learned about his nightmares. Taking another deep breath and wrapping himself more securely in the blankets, he thought hard. _While it's fresh in my mind, what was different in the dream?_

Well, the real Warden took the place of the desire demon. _Obviously_. Wait, before she turned into the Warden, the dream had already changed—he’d been wearing ordinary clothes and not armor, and she turned into the Warden only after he realized that, then Surana wore armor through the rest of the dream— _yes, even the dress was designed over armor._ If he was completely honest, he hadn’t felt any attraction until the Warden replaced the desire demon, but then _well I’ve woken up panicked from the nightmare many times, but never with such an…uncomfortable reaction as well._ Which meant…maybe the desire demon no longer had a hold on him, but the real Surana did? _Obviously, though the physical is only the tip of how I feel about her; it would be much easier to deny if all I really felt was that_. And that was a revelation almost as uncomfortable as his physical reaction. Then rather than the desire demon's promise that “my fantasy would be more real than the woman,” Surana had said “I can’t be what you want, Commander.”

His head began throbbing, and he realized that while he’d been lucky enough to be free of any serious symptoms of lyrium withdrawal for several weeks, this definitely felt like the beginnings of a bout of withdrawal sickness. It was only a dull ache and he had half a day at least before it became hard to function, but Cullen was quickly beginning to have trouble focusing even though other things about the dream niggled at him. _Cold water over my head usually helps with the headache a little, at least for a few hours, and hopefully solve my other problem too._ The shaking had long since stopped as he had wrestled with the implications of this new dream, and in spite of the mild throbbing in his head, he was able to summon at least a little self-deprecatory amusement at the fact that the hard-edged cynical Surana could still have the same visible effect as the gentle young apprentice once had. But he abruptly realized he was certain of two things. First his old friend had a power over him that the nightmare no longer did, but unlike the desire demon she would never willingly use that power; if Fergus was right, she was frightened by anything of the sort.

And Fergus was right about something else; this was a fight he was willing to fight, even if he had no idea how to start.

* * *

* * *

I apologize for the long stretch between chapters. I was away from writing for a couple of weeks due to a wedding, and then the chapter I had planned turned out to be a lot longer than I expected. So I broke off this shorter portion that stands alone well so I could put something out now, and hopefully the rest, which is already about two-thirds written, will be done by next weekend.


	17. Dew on the Grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very uncomfortable early morning encounter.

* * *

CHAPTER 17 – Dew on the grass

* * *

Almost as soon as he made his decision, Cullen began doubting, not his decision, but his ability to overcome Surana’s fears. If Fergus was right, she expected to die _…well, yes, the Calling, but surely that won’t be for many years, some of the Wardens at Adamant were twenty or thirty years older than she is?…_ and she pushes people away because of that. _…”someone who won’t be hurt if I die the next day…”_ He snorted. _If she thinks she won’t be mourned now, she doesn’t know Leliana or Fergus at all._ His own stomach twisted at the thought of her Calling before he ruthlessly pushed that possibility to the back of his mind, torn between a sense of urgency and the competing realization that coaxing her into letting down all of her defensive walls to trust him would require time and patience. It wasn’t as if he was offering any more certainty about his own future. _And what was it that Fergus knows but wouldn’t tell me?_

So, where to start? _With what we share, with what we have in common?_ They’d always been friends of a sort. Kinloch, well that would be the wrong direction, a reminder of what had separated them for so long. Suddenly joining the circle of his officers that she drank with in the evenings might be…awkward, not to mention obvious, and put a damper on their conviviality. _What did she care most about?_ Timur naturally…the old warrior had already wormed his way into Cullen’s affections in ways that had nothing to do with Surana herself, but that didn’t seem to offer an excuse to spend time with her. _What else?_ An unexpected image of Surana and Rylen circling in the practice ring sprang to mind, her eyes lit up with intense focus, but always a trace of a feral grin on her lips.

By lunchtime Cullen would probably be in too much withdrawal pain to even think clearly, but as he washed and armored for the day in the faint dawn light, he recalled the rumor that Surana almost always came to the courtyard behind the tavern before dawn and drilled herself against the pells until most of the keep was stirring. If she was there this morning, then here was an opportunity to spend at least a few minutes alone with her, even if he did nothing more than drill next to her in silence. They were both dedicated to perfecting and expanding their skills with weapons, not to mention delighting in the simple exercise of those skills, however unexpected that revelation had been. While she might scorn her reputation as a hero, she also took her role as someone who commanded others with deadly seriousness and seemed most at ease with those who respected her as Warden Commander.

In fact, she didn’t stop drilling the combination shot she was practicing even to glance around at his footsteps when he approached with his own practice blade, almost certainly courtesy of Timur. Her friend raised his grey head briefly to eye the ex-Templar, then settled comfortably back down on his rug with a snort. _The guardian at my back_ , Cullen heard Surana’s voice in amusement with renewed gratitude that the old mabari apparently approved of him, especially now. Silently, he began warming up with single snap shots at specific points on his own pell a few feet away, letting himself slip into a tightly focused state in which nothing existed except the pell, his sword, and his body. It was very like the meditation that his training had been intended to teach him, but far more satisfying for him than staring at a candle flame and reciting verses from the Chant.

He finished his first practice set and paused to check the lanyard on his wrist, feeling warmer and in less pain, at least for the moment, only to discover Surana watching him cautiously, rotating her shoulders as if she was trying to decide whether or not she had overextended herself. “You’re out here early.”

“Couldn’t sleep. I thought this might clear my head a little.”

The elf simply nodded as if unsurprised before examining his face closely, but just as she opened her mouth to ask something, Timur made an odd noise between a snort and a growl and her head snapped around to stare at him, then back toward the main keep. “Shit. I hoped I’d have a little more time.” Cullen followed her gaze to see the handsome blonde rulers of Fereldan striding determinedly in their direction, trailed by several guards.

“Um, would you like me to leave?” From their expressions and Surana’s tone, he guessed she expected this to be unpleasant, though he also remembered she’d been fairly certain Anora would remain within the bounds of courtly civility. Still….

“No! I mean, if you don’t mind, please stay.” Blue-grey eyes met his hesitantly, almost embarrassed. “Her majesty unnerves me.”

Amusement swept over Cullen at that uncharacteristic admission, and he muttered under his breath as the party neared them, “That’s not reassuring. I’d have been ready to wager you’d stare down the Maker himself.” She covered her mouth to smother a startled bark of laughter at his impulsively irreverent humor, then sobered as she inclined her upper body slightly and very precisely to Alistair and Anora.

“Your majesties.” Cullen mimicked her formal half-bow, but chose to remain silent and let her handle the confrontation on her own.

“Warden Commander Surana.” Though Alistair had been very gregarious and charmingly funny throughout the day before, he stopped a step behind Anora and remained silent, simply studying Surana a little anxiously before scrutinizing Cullen intently. In return, Cullen coolly analyzed this man who had trained for the Templars and left the Wardens— _and Surana_ , his subconscious inserted unwillingly—for a crown and a queen. The man had more than his share of the legendary Theirin attractiveness and was clearly still in prime fighting condition, but also exuded an inviting, approachable air that people responded to. Cullen envied that easy self-confidence. If a man like this had asked to join the Inquisition, Cullen would have been inclined to make him an officer, but only where he was closely watched by a senior officer. Something about him made Cullen suspect that he wasn’t always overly observant and could probably be easily manipulated by the right person.

He’d barely made that split second evaluation of the king when Anora spoke again with more than an edge of anger in her voice.

“Now that you don’t have an audience of ambassadors, half our court, and most of the Inquisition as witnesses,” her eyes flicked to Cullen briefly before fixing fiercely on Surana again, “would you like to explain your absence for the past two years?”

“No.” If she hadn’t made her admission just before the Royal party had come into earshot, Cullen would have been completely deceived by her cool, uncompromisingly terse response.

“No? Commander Surana, I think you owe us some explanations for why you vanished without consulting us or making proper provisions for Amaranthine.” Anora’s tone was sharp, and clearly there was a deep rage concealed within her words.

“I am Warden Commander first, your majesty, and that did not change when I also accepted responsibility for Amaranthine, as you well know. I made it quite clear at the beginning that I do not answer to anyone when I am engaged on Grey Warden business, especially when my business is unrelated to Amaranthine or Fereldan.” Surana spoke precisely and formally, no overt emotion in her crisp words but Cullen noticed her left hand twitch as if missing the comfort of Timur’s head. “Teryn Fergus has not disputed my provisions for Amaranthine’s administration which he had previously agreed would be adequate if I needed to be absent, so I fail to understand your concern, your majesty.”

“And why is it you went through the Teryn instead of directly through us when you were going to be at such a distance that you could not contact us at all?”

“Because Amaranthine falls under the Teyrnir of Highever. Because he has mediated almost all business between us for years, an arrangement you have always approved, especially since he has proved able to manipulate me into becoming involved in minor ways in internal Ferelden business.” Surana responded to the queen’s anger with coolness of her own. “Involvement of which my order would disapprove, by the by, for exactly the reasons you are now angry with me. Your majesty, I’m neither a landed noble nor one of your vassals, just a warden who happens to act in the name of the Grey Wardens despite the courtesy of a title as Arlessa. That title stays with the current Warden Commander of the Grey in Fereldan, not me personally. Your landed nobles serve as ambassadors and may be gone from their lands for years with only an occasional letter, why does my absence…trouble you?”

“Perhaps that is the question, Warden Commander.” Anora curiously ignored Surana’s question. “Here you are with the Inquisition apparently engaged in creating a replacement force for the Templars with two former Templars, so have you left the Wardens for this new project?”

“I’m here honoring the commitment the southern wardens have made to the Inquisition, your majesty, and trying to discover word of what happened to my wardens. And resting. Both Timur and I were…overstretched when we arrived.” Anora scowled, but Surana raised a hand before she could speak. “Your majesty, I think perhaps you and I are overdue to talk. Privately, if his majesty and the commander wouldn’t mind keeping Timur company for a few minutes.”

Anora took a deep breath as if about to spit out something biting, then released it, nodding warily. “Alistair, if you would.” She nodded toward Timur then followed Arisha toward the wall of the tavern. Alistair watched apprehensive, but sighed before smiling engagingly at the ex-Templar and gesturing toward the bench where Timur sat.

“Commander, I believe we’ll be safer here.” Hesitantly Cullen joined him, glancing at the guards who had remained a few paces away and who were carefully pretending they hadn’t heard a word. Throughout the tense confrontation, Timur hadn’t stirred from his spot on the rug where Cullen now saw he was covered with a warm woolen blanket. He seemed the least concerned of the group, and as soon as Cullen sat down, his head was somehow in Cullen’s lap, under his right hand. The two women were now speaking in tones so low they were almost whispers, but Alistair glanced away long enough to observe the old mabari, raising a surprised eyebrow at Cullen before looking back toward his wife. _And his ex-lover,_ some treacherous part of Cullen’s mind added. Anora had fallen silent and was listening closely to Surana, her tense posture and tight expression giving way to…surprise?

“We really haven’t spoken except during the formal introductions yesterday, Commander. I prefer getting to know people without all the fuss and bother of the ceremony my wife and your ambassador insist are necessary. You sound Fereldan and we’re told that you’re an _ex_ -Templar?” Alistair’s eyes flicked curiously toward Timur who snorted back at him.

“I trained for the Templars in Fereldan, but I’ve been in the Freemarches since the end of the blight.”

“Really? Were you at Kinloch Hold, then?” Whatever Surana was saying to the queen was apparently what she needed to hear because after a long pause when the mage finished speaking, the blonde woman nodded thoughtfully, then accepted the mage’s outstretched hand as if sealing…an agreement? A truce, perhaps?

“Yes, Surana and I knew each other before she was conscripted, if that’s what you’re asking. I stood at her Harrowing.” For once Cullen felt certain that his listener would understand all the implications of that remark, and Alistair swore softly.

“Maker’s breath! Would you really have…?”

“If she’d failed, yes. Do you think she’d have wanted to live as an abomination?” His words were matter-of-fact, though his stomach twisted even more at the thought now than it had then.

Most of the tension had bled away from the two women and now they appeared to be conversing almost normally. Then Surana added something, just a few words, and Anora frowned sharply, turning to stare fiercely at the two men with Timur before asking the mage a terse question. Surana simply nodded, and to Cullen’s shock, Anora rested a hand on the elf’s arm very briefly in a gesture of…what?

“Maker’s breath! If I didn’t know Surana so well, I’d swear she just used blood magic on my wife.” Alistair’s comment was soft enough that Cullen felt certain the guards couldn’t hear it. “Well, if you’ve known Surana so long, I guess that explains why Timur already knows you so well.”

Cullen felt Timur shift a little, then snort as if laughing and he hoped the dim light hid the redness he felt heating his cheeks. Until the Fereldans arrived, he hadn’t been quite aware of how much awkward speculation Timur’s overt affection could generate, however welcome it was otherwise. Well, perhaps her closest friends had all commented on it now and the subject would be dropped…

The two men watched the women in companionable silence. After Anora questioned the warden for another minute or so, apparently receiving responses so brief that most were no more than three or four words, the human strode purposefully toward the bench while the elf turned her face away from them, her head tilted back to study the lightening sky. Both Alistair and Cullen started to rise as she approached, but she waved Cullen back to the bench.

“Please, Commander, Timur looks quite comfortable.” Her expression was the serene one she had worn most of the previous day, but this time Cullen sensed it was no longer a mask. She rested a hand lightly, almost affectionately Cullen thought, on Alistair’s arm. “I need to meet with Lady Josephine before breakfast, Alistair, please join me later if you like. I believe the Warden Commander would like to speak with you alone for a moment, however.” Alistair quickly covered his surprise, but took Anora’s hand and kissed it briefly with that charming smile that he had used so successfully the night before.

“Of course, I’ll join you as soon as I can.” With a brisk nod at Cullen and Timur, the queen gathered the guards, detailing one to remain behind to wait for Alistair, then strode determinedly toward the main entrance of Skyhold. Still a bit stunned, Alistair slowly walked toward Surana, out of the hearing of Cullen and the guard who was discretely keeping his attention on the mabari. As Alistair neared the mage, Arisha turned to lean against the wall, her arms crossed and her expression bland.

“Your majesty.”

“Maker’s breath, Arisha, I still have a name, and there’s no one close enough to hear you use it. We are still friends, or at least I thought so.” Alistair scowled at her in irritation.

She shrugged, but there was just the faintest hint of a smile curving her lips. “As much as we can be now, Alistair. When was the last time we spoke without someone listening?”

He glanced toward Cullen and Timur, and his guard who tactfully stood a few feet past them. “I think…just after the Landsmeet, when I told you….”

“Ah, yes.” She leaned her head back to stare up at a passing cloud. “I’d barely washed the blood of your future father-in-law from my hands. Fitting, don’t you think? I wanted the civil war ended, Anora wanted a throne, and you wanted revenge for the Wardens’ betrayal. All I had to do was kill him so you got your revenge while also keeping your hands clean so at least you and Anora would never have that between you. Has it been worth it?”

Alistair winced, crossing his arms in return. “Dammit, Arisha, most people get more tactful as they age, they don’t club people with words.”

She shrugged, still watching the cloud. “Tact is for courtiers and people with something to live for, not a soldier in a war that never ends. If I were being completely honest, though, I’d point out that there was one night when we spoke alone briefly since then, but I promised never to mention it again, didn’t I?” She finally met his eyes again, pale blue-grey eyes serene and cool.

“Oh, thanks, there goes my appetite for the rest of the day.” He snorted, but there was a trace of a laugh in his response.

“Did you know Morrigan and her son Kieran were here for a couple of months, helping the Inquisition?” The mage spoke casually, as if simply passing on ordinary gossip about an old friend, but her eyes softened a little when he tensed at her words.

“Her…son?”

“A charming young man, according to Leliana and the Inquisitor, very polite. Who would have guessed that Morrigan would turn out to be a good mother, as much, I suspect, because she was determined not to raise her child the way her mother did her?”

Alistair simply gaped at her silently for a few moments before shaking himself. “Is she?”

“Apparently. They seemed quite close, and the Inquisitor was there when she thought something threatened Kieran. Morrigan was willing to give up her freedom, her very life to protect him. I think that suggests she cares for him a bit.” The words were soft, but spoken with far more gentleness than the Warden-Commander normally bestowed on people. “I understand from the Inquisitor that Flemeth also reclaimed…something and now he is simply Morrigan’s son, though probably never a completely ordinary boy.”

“Kieran.” Alistair spoke the name quietly. “Well, that’s an interesting piece of news, thank you.” The simple statement carried a note of intense gratitude buried within and Arisha chuckled softly.

“You’re welcome. And with that, I can bury the last bit of guilt I’ve been carrying around. Toward you, at least.”

“Toward me?”

Surana rolled her eyes at him, drawing her arms more tightly around herself. “What, you think I asked you to save both of us, married you off to Anora, and forced you onto a throne you didn’t want, then strolled off without even a trace of guilt? Me?”

Alistair stared for a moment, then began to chuckle. “That did rather sound as if I didn’t know you at all, I just never thought you’d feel guilty about _me_. You may have manipulated me into…saving us, but you didn’t force me to become king, you know, or to marry Anora. You just made me face up to my duty.” He tilted his head to the side, studying her. “But you don’t feel guilty now?”

“You’re happy” It was a simple statement, but a slight smile softened the sharp features of her face briefly. “I knew you didn’t want to be king or married to Anora, and for the first year or two, every time I saw you, I drowned in guilt.”

“That wasn’t what I felt, you know.” His words were spoken quietly, but with the air of a man who had made peace with that past long ago.

“I knew, and that didn’t precisely help.” Arisha shrugged, leaning back to stare up at another cloud, tinted pink with the sunrise. “Then one day, Timur and I arrived a few hours earlier than we’d expected and Fergus led us up to one of the balconies so we could chat in private about some news before the court spotted us. I watched how you smiled at Anora as you listened to her, then you laughed at something she’d said, and I realized you were _happy_. It was as a huge weight had lifted from me.”

Alistair chuckled. “I guess I was, though it took me a while to stop resenting Anora and Fereldan. Resenting you for going on without me, for still being a warden, for avoiding me. I even resented Fergus for making you smile again. You know for a while, I thought…”

The mage snorted, still watching the cloud.

“Funnily enough, when I finally bumbled my way through asking him, I got the same snort in response. Made me feel like a real heel, the way he looked at me, too, before he told me if I had ever stopped moping because you were being cold to me, I’d realize you were too consumed by the Wardens to think of anything else.”

“If I hadn’t made it a clean break, you would have taken much longer to let go and move on yourself, Alistair. I’ve always been a yank-the-arrow-out-quickly sort.”

He winced and rubbed a shoulder. “I might recall that, yes.”

“It worked out in the end, didn’t it? The Wardens and Thedas got me and you got a kingdom and a wife and learned to love them both.”

Alistair straightened abruptly, an uneasy, almost trapped expression on his face. “Um, do you want to repeat that?”

Arisha laughed softly, eyes settling on him again as if amused at his incipient panic. “Alistair, there’s no shame in falling in love with your wife or admitting it. Unless you’re Orlesian, and somehow I don’t think you give a nug’s fart for what they think.”

Alistair continued staring, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly for a moment, then his face reddened slightly. “Somehow, this isn’t a conversation I ever expected to be having with you. Not that I’ve had it with anyone, but you….” He slowly relaxed, but eyed her warily. “Have I been that obvious?”

“Not particularly, but I do have some experience with how you behave, you know.” She tilted her head back to study a new cloud, arms still firmly crossed. “Hmm, my guess is that Fergus noticed and is extremely amused but would never say anything; you should know by now how little gets past him. And Anora doesn’t.” Alistair shifted uncomfortably. “You haven’t said anything, have you?”

“No, dammit, how do I even start a conversation like that? With Anora of all people!”

“You don’t.” He raised one blonde eyebrow at her quizzically. “Alistair, Cailan spoke the words over and over to her then cheerfully strolled out of the palace to visit his mistresses. And she’s a diplomat, a courtier, she knows how little words often mean. But you, you aren’t Cailan, and she’s going to know you’ve taken those marriage vows seriously, however reluctant you were at first. You’d never be able to hide it if you’d cheated on her.”

She lowered her eyes from the passing pink-tinged clouds to grin at his discomfort. “Show her, don’t tell her. Anora knows you respect her ability to run things, to get people to cooperate with her ideas, but actually giving her a compliment for that might mean even more. When you think to yourself how much you care for her, make some small gesture, kiss her hand, or even just take her hand between yours and smile at her. You have a very wicked smile, you know.” Alistair wouldn’t quite meet her eyes, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “Alistair, you really haven’t changed much in some ways, have you?”

“What do you mean?” He managed to meet her laughing eyes, his cheeks faintly reddened.

“You still haven’t worked out that Anora cares for you too. Maybe loves you.” Alistair’s mouth dropped open in shock.

“You’re mad. Why am I listening to you, of all people, give me advice on wooing my wife?”

“No, I just pay attention to people.” She shrugged. “Anora is reserved, Alistair, but you know as well as I do that she isn’t nearly as cold as she’d like people to think. She feels very deeply, but she hasn’t exactly had the kind of experiences that would let her easily trust someone with her feelings, and she may never openly express them. But I’ve watched, especially when you say something to back her up, support her during a dispute with some of the nobles, and there’s a light in her eyes for just a moment when you do. You _respect_ her and trust her and don’t take what she can do for granted.” Alistair slowly closed his mouth. “Just try not to be obvious about it, Ali, or you’ll embarrass her. Even small gestures, she’ll probably tell you not to be silly, but watch her eyes and mouth when she says it.”

“Ali. You haven’t called me that in…”

“Once for old times’ sake. We still need to play the role of feuding king and Warden Commander, though.”

He nodded, then his eyes grew sharper. “If the Wardens and Thedas got you, and I got Fereldan and Anora, what did you get?”

“A lot of headaches?” He barked a brief laugh at her tart answer then scowled.

“I’m serious, Arisha. Fergus may have had to hit me with a club to get my attention, but every time I’ve seen you, you look thinner and more exhausted.”

“Well shit, that does wonders for my ego.” Her eyes laughed at him.

“I don’t mean it that way and you know it.” He waved away her attempt to divert him with humor. “But sometimes it seems as if there’s nothing left of you except that role of the Warden Commander that you play. Hasn’t there been anything good for you in all this time?”

Arisha avoided his eyes, staring at a nearby vine climbing the wall. “My life could have been so much worse, Alistair, I could have been one of the elves kidnapped from the Alienage to be sold as a slave in Tevinter during the blight. However much I’m bound by my duty to Thedas as a warden, I’ve had chances few other elves can ever hope for. At least for all my mistakes I’ve done some good, and that’s nothing to sneer at. And I have Timur.”

Alistair’s eyes shifted briefly to the bench where Cullen was intent on scratching the old mabari’s ears and pretending not to pay any attention to them. “That doesn’t seem like much reward for all you’ve done.”

“Are you insulting the value of a mabari’s friendship? Maker’s breath, and from a Ferelden king, no less, for shame!” There was a stubborn set to her mouth in spite of Surana’s lighthearted dramatic joking that Alistair recognized, surrendering his attempt to pry information from his old friend.

* * *

Cullen watched, and didn’t watch, as the pair talked, keenly aware of the awkwardness that clearly colored their conversation, but while friendly, there was nothing of an ex-lover’s regret. From either. _Thank the Maker_ , Cullen wasn’t certain how he’d have reacted if there had been. Finally, Alistair glanced toward the bench then said something that drew what was clearly meant to be a melodramatic pose of shock from Surana, but even from this distance, he could also see the mulishness in her expression. _Better him than me,_ Cullen thought in wry amusement.

The pair walked back to the bench where Alistair extended his hand briefly to Timur for a brief affectionate lick before Timur settled his head back into Cullen’s lap. Alistair bowed to Cullen briefly but with a measuring stare before bidding them both goodbye then strode off to catch up with Anora, his step jaunty.

Arisha stared off at nothing in particular, almost posing proudly, until Alistair and his guard were out of sight. Then Timur slipped out from under the dew-covered blanket to move slowly to her side. As if that was a signal, she knelt abruptly and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his grey neck.

Cullen remained on the bench, his stomach twisting again at her reaction. Did she still care more for Alistair than she had admitted? Well, better to know now, and at least he could trust her to be kind about it. “Surana, are you alright?”

“Yes.” She sighed, sitting back on her knees and scratching Timur’s ears slowly, her eyes locked with the mabari’s. “I’m just wishing I could pack my gear up and vanish with Timur back into the wilderness at the moment. I…really hate emotional scenes.”

Cullen couldn’t help chuckling at the exasperation in her voice, though his amusement was at least partly relief that it had been the tenseness of the situation that was causing her to seek comfort with the mabari. “Whatever you said to Anora apparently worked. I’m not certain I’d have believed it if I hadn’t seen it.”

She shrugged. “Just something that should have been said years ago, but there was never a good time.” The old mabari snorted into her ear then licked it affectionately when Surana winced away.

“I reminded Anora that I’d been locked up in the Tower until barely a year before the Landsmeet and had known little or nothing about people and events in Fereldan. I made my decisions on what I was able to learn in that short time, but since then I’ve learned that Loghain…had good reason to be wary of the Orlesian chevaliers accompanying the Wardens into Fereldan. It wouldn’t be the first time that armies that came to another country’s assistance during a blight turned on them and tried to conquer them when the blight was over. I’m quite certain the Empress and Orlais’s nobility are very well aware of how Orlais held Nevarra for a time after the Third Blight. But I knew none of this then. I told Anora I had been wrong to condemn Loghain as a traitor for blocking their help.”

Cullen digested this for a moment. He’d first read about it himself in Kirkwall, but their Templar’s library had better records than Kinloch Hold’s which might have been purged during the Orlesian occupation. Yet until now he hadn’t known that Orlais had tried to send chevaliers with the Orlesian wardens during the Fifth Blight. “Do you think Loghain knew, or just suspected?”

“Does it matter except that it gave me a truthful way to make peace with Anora? How much good would it have done if I also pointed out that Loghain had done other things that did deserve execution—taking money to allow Tevinters to seize elves from Denerim’s alienage as slaves, hiring…someone to poison Arl Eamon, and Fergus suspects he knew what Howe planned for Highever.” The woman turned her face back into Timur’s neck. “I didn’t tell her that I’d have lost Alistair’s cooperation in ending the civil war if I’d spared Loghain; better to let her blame me alone for that decision than have it poison a good marriage.”

“A…good marriage?” Cullen felt as if she had skipped ahead in the conversation and left him floundering. Arisha turned her head just enough to meet his eyes briefly, and he was relieved to see a glint of humor in them.

“Anora and Alistair. At least that’s one thing I don’t need to regret, even if it was an accident.” She took a deep breath, as if trying to let go of tension, then raised an eyebrow at him. “I did force them to get married to end the civil war; the best I’d hope for was that they’d tolerate each other.”

Cullen’s brain began to catch up as a smile tugged at her lips, her arms still around Timur. “You’re saying they…more than tolerate each other?”

“I’m saying I accidentally may have done the best thing for either of them.” She shrugged. “I’d have settled for polite cooperation, but at least the two of _them_ haven’t haunted my dreams.”

“Does Loghain?” The words slipped out, but she simply turned her attention back to Timur.

“Sometimes, but he’s always facing a line of elves from Denerim’s alienage, villagers from Redcliffe, Fergus’s family from Highever, all with names but no faces.” She fixed her eyes on Timur’s as she scratched his ears. “They scream silently at each other then point fingers at me. When I wake up, all I can do is question everything I did, everything I could have done.” She was silent for a moment, then added softly, “Sometimes I never want to make another decision again.”

Her comment tugged at a memory, but Cullen couldn’t quite follow that tug back through the mild cloud of pain that was starting to grow worse. Surana gave Timur another hug, then stood abruptly, slinging her bag of gear over one shoulder and the damp blanket that had covered Timur over the other. “I…should go wash up. I suspect Josephine expects people to be on time for breakfast.”

Cullen managed to match her smile in spite of the pain. “I’m still in shock that there’s anyone who unnerves you, Surana.”

She chuckled then blurted out, “Thank you, Commander, for staying.” Surana met his eyes almost in embarrassment, then was gone.

* * *

* * *

This turned into a bit of a monster in length...

* * *


	18. Mint and Apples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Withdrawal and Surana's walls slip a little further.

* * *

When she arrived for lunch, Surana was amused to discover that she was seated next to Teryn Fergus, who by rights belonged near the Inquisitor and the Fereldan royals at the head of the room. The question, of course, was whether Josephine kept seating influential Fereldan nobles with Surana as a reproof to the Warden Commander for refusing to be seated with the “powers” in the hall or as a reassurance to the Fereldens that the Inquisition respected Surana even if…past history made her proximity to Alistair and Anora impolitic. At least Timur’s presence was so ordinary by now that there were always two heavy pottery bowls waiting on his low bench, one filled with clear water and the other with very finely minced meat. Once someone had even placed the bowls on the table, but Surana herself had tactfully moved them back to the bench with the remark that Timur’s table manners were a little messy even for her taste, a mild remark that had left both Surana and Timur inexplicably amused.

As Rylen settled into his seat on the other side of the old mabari, he offered Timur a small corner from the slice of warm rye bread he was buttering and caught Surana’s eye. “Commander Cullen won’t be available this afternoon, so I’m afraid we’ll have to forgo our sparring this afternoon, Warden Commander.”

Surana frowned and appeared not to notice Teryn Fergus pretend that he wasn’t listening intently to every word. “Of course, though I’ll miss it. I hadn’t heard anything, has one of the Inquisition’s allies requested help?”

“No, the Commander is just…not feeling up to it.” Rylen offered Timur another bite of bread, aware that Surana’s frown had deepened as she scratched Timur’s head.

“Is he sick? No one said anything, I just saw him this morning at breakfast.”

“Ah, no, not exactly.” Rylen glanced across the table, but the minor nobles seated directly across from them were engaged in a jovial argument, and he casually dropped his voice to just above a whisper. “It’s…the lyrium. He has much longer between bad spells now, but he’s not entirely free of them. We don’t know yet if he ever will be.”

The mage eyed him thoughtfully and simply nodded, as if wondering how personally he felt Cullen’s withdrawal, whether he watched and debated which was worse: withdrawal or the eventual loss of his own memories. Further conversation was delayed by servers with soup, but as Rylen teased the young man who was filling his bowl, Fergus leaned in closer to Surana and whispered, “If I read the Commander right, I’d guess he hasn’t let anyone tell the healers because they might ‘waste’ healing that someone else needs. But you aren’t working with the Inquisition’s healers and he knows you.”

“You know how much I hate healing. And why.” Her dark head was bent over her bowl as she stirred the steaming contents idly. “And somehow I don’t think a _mage_ healer is the right person to offer help to an ex-Templar in pain.”

“Dammit, Surana! You’re probably the one healer, mage or not, who could offer him help right now without offending him.” She remained silent, then he went on briefly. “Are you his friend or aren’t you?” And with that sharp soft-spoken jab, the teryn turned to his other table companion and began inquiring cheerfully about how he and the other Orlesian chevaliers had fared during the battles in the Arbor Wilds. Stung, Surana glanced down at Timur who met her eyes with a determined stare.

* * *

At the now-familiar _click, click_ of a large dog’s nails on the stone outside his door, Cullen raised his head from where it had rested in his hands, his sensation of surprise curiously remote. “Warden Commander, I’m sorry, I…”

“Don’t feel well, yes, Captain Rylen informed me.” Surana entered briskly, a basket in one arm and a small brazier in the other which she set down on the stack of boards in the corner. Timur quietly sank down out of the way in a warm sunny patch by the door, head resting on his paws.

“He did?” Cullen’s pain seemed to be clouding his ability to think, and his head sank back into his hands with a swallowed moan.

“Commander, I so rarely volunteer to heal anymore, I admit that few people would even guess that I can, but you at least know that I was trained as a healer and that it wasn’t all combat healing.” He could hear her doing something, then the acrid scent of burning charcoal. “Well, that worked at least.”

At that he lifted his head enough to see her suspending a small pot from a light tripod she’d set up over the brazier. She chuckled at his quizzical expression. “That’s right, by the time we first met, I had finished studying basic elemental magics.” The mage took several items out of the basket and arranged them before crossing to stand next to his desk. “Which means you missed me catching my hair on fire. I had to walk around with my head shaved till it grew back out, and I’ve kept it braided close to my head ever since. Fire, apparently, is not my friend. I’m quite a bit better with ice spells, but believe me, Irving didn’t make me his protégé for my talents with elemental magic, Commander.”

Another wave of pain swept over him, and she clearly recognized the signs from his face even as he bit back a groan. “Commander, I may be able to ease the symptoms a little, but I don’t just need your agreement, you have to trust me. If you can’t, just say so and I’ll mix you up something for the headache and help you up to your room to rest. It won’t offend me, and it’s easier for both of us if you’re honest.”

“What do you mean?”

She came around to his side of the desk and rested one hip against it, arms crossed on her chest. “I don’t know anything about lyrium withdrawal, and you aren’t in any shape to coherently describe what you’re feeling without a lot of questions that’ll just aggravate that headache. There’s a very minor spirit healing spell that’s mostly intended for use on very small children and those who are unconscious that will let me feel where and how you hurt and has the benefit of blocking your pain for at least a few moments.” Steely blue-grey eyes measured him warily. “I can’t promise anything, but I may also be able to apply some magical healing at the same time to reduce the pain or craving, at least for a while.”

Cullen studied her face, fingers laced together and clenched tightly. “There’s something about this spell that makes you nervous.”

She shrugged. “It’s chantry approved magic. But you’ll have to let me touch you, and I’ll feel what your body is feeling, everything you’re feeling, not just the pain, right down to whether or not your bladder is too full. That’s all, the spell doesn’t allow me to do more than know your physical condition, but even that frightens a lot of people who think I’ll take control of them or something.” Surana held his eyes with hers. “And you will feel strange, like you’re detached from your body for a few moments. I promise, I won’t be offended if you aren’t certain. I don’t offer to do this for many people, but if I can understand what’s involved in lyrium withdrawal, maybe I can find something you can use to help others survive breaking the addiction more easily in the future.”

Despite the pounding of his head, the ex-Templar realized that she was hinting, with unusual delicacy for her, that she would also sense any physical reaction to her. But between the pains and the craving, he ruefully admitted that he would be incapable of feeling arousal if the most beautiful woman in Thedas began stripping in front of him at the moment. “If it’ll help, of course.” She gave him a slightly odd look, but he was in no condition to make sense of it.

“First, let me see if you have any fever…” Surana slowly raised a hand, palm out toward his forehead, but waited until he nodded consent. Her palm was calloused and his skin was so sensitive from the pain that he could swear he could feel the thin lines of scar tissue on her slender fingers, but her touch was light and brief. “A slight one. Now, please take off one of your gloves, I’ll need to touch your pulse for the spell to work right.”

She settled a little more firmly onto the edge of his desk before the surprisingly strong fingers of her left hand closed around his firmly, turning his wrist upwards while the first two fingers of her right hand rested gently on his wrist. The mage closed her eyes and Cullen watched in fascination as her breathing became slow and calm, suggesting to him that this spell required some sort of trance to work. As a Templar, he’d more often monitored apprentices who were training with potentially dangerous elemental magics; healing magics and relatively passive “safe” spells were often not considered a priority, so he’d actually rarely observed magic like this.

Just as her breathing had slowed to indicate a deep meditative state, he began to feel a coolness spreading from her fingers, down his arms and quickly reaching every part of him. That coolness seemed to…dowse the pain as it traveled through him. Cullen was glad she’d warned him, though. He still felt his body, but at a distance, as if he was observing it, and by the time the coolness had spread to his toes, the lyrium thirst had receded into something he was knew was there but reacted to only with revulsion, not the shameful obsession that he had battled for the past year and a half.

As the coolness left blissful clarity in its wake, he found himself studying Surana instead. They had rarely been so close, face to face, except for a second here and there…shaking hands, brushing past each other. Never at rest and certainly never without a strong consciousness of her, physically. Even relaxed in a near trance, she still held herself with a trace of the remote pragmatic commander, as if the role itself had entwined itself into who she was. But more noticeable was that aura of confident power which, he now realized, had been subdued, even veiled, since the day she arrived. Perhaps the roles she played served to redirect fears of her powerful magic into more familiar reactions?

At another time, from someone else, that feel of power and confidence would have made him quite uneasy, but this was Surana, whose control and discipline had been tried under the harshest conditions, and he wasn’t certain even the Cullen of his early Kirkwall years would have been able to sustain more than a brief, reflexive fear of her. Instead, he seized the opportunity to examine her unguarded face.

Thin, sharp features were unsoftened by any trace of extra flesh. The tightly braided dark brown hair pulled back from and accented a high, light brown forehead and sharp cheekbones that ran down to a small, rather pointed chin. Cheeks with only a trace of color, and eyebrows that were thin slashes of dark brown framing lines of worry above her eyes. Her small nose was slightly too long, reminding him of a blade aimed at lips that were a little pale and lacked the fullness his memory insisted they should have. Not beautiful, perhaps, but…compelling. In relaxation and without the impact of her eyes, the effect was of someone less remote and controlled, more...ordinary. Well, except for that sense of power.

What surprised him was just how worn and thin she really was. One by one, her friends had commented on it, but somehow he hadn’t truly seen it til now, and glancing down from her face to where her hands held his, he realized that the lacing on her armor was as tight as it could be…as if to make it fit right?

Then the cool receded in a rush and the pain and craving flooded back over him as if chasing the coolness out. Something did seem to be buffering the intensity, making it a bit more tolerable now. Her hand tightened reflexively on his as she let out a long breath and straightened, eyes opening and the seamless mask of the Warden Commander falling back into place.

“Well! That tells me a great deal, and not nearly enough at the same time. I’m not sure there’s a great deal I can do for the craving, Commander, but I can ease some of the pains, I think.” Briskly the mage crossed to the brazier, quickly spooning herbs from a packet into a rough clay beaker then ladling in hot water from a pan that had been heating. While they steeped, she measured other herbs directly into the steaming pot and stirred them in thoroughly. Then she spread cheesecloth over a mug, quickly tied it in place, and poured the liquid from the beaker through the cheesecloth. He continued to watch blearily as she untied the cheesecloth and pressed it between the lid of the pan and the spoon to squeeze every last drop from the herbs

She set the steaming mug in front of him, and, accustomed to the alchemist Adan’s infamously foul-tasting brews, he sniffed it cautiously before sipping even more cautiously. Cullen was startled to discover that her tisane was faintly sweet and tasted of mint and apples. He began to drink more confidently while Surana took a seat next to the brazier on a pile of lumber, smiling wryly at him as she drew her sword and took out a whetstone attached to a handle and a vial of oil. “Surprised? It has to taste good for someone with a blinding headache to choke down. Besides, unlike your Inquisitor’s famously cranky lover, most of what I make is for my own use or Timur’s, and I need something for headaches a lot.”

He continued to drink in small swallows, pausing between them to inhale the fragrant steam that itself seemed to relieve at least a little of the pressure in his head. Surana carefully began to rub oil along the blade with a soft piece of leather. Cullen watched her practiced movements then finally asked, “Why don’t you heal anymore? You were quite good at it, I thought.”

Surana bit her lip, concentrating on the blade for a few moments before answering in a quiet tone. “I never liked it, though. I was a lot more likely to get caught fighting someone who was bullying or scaring the smaller children than to kiss skinned knees to make them feel better. I only learned to heal because it seemed to me that the senior mages who had the most freedom to leave the Circle from time to time were healers like old Wynne. The Templars also seemed to regard mages who healed as less dangerous and watched them less.”

Between her earlier magic and whatever was in this tisane, the pain in his head had eased enough that he could think a little more clearly. Cullen worried like a dog with a meaty bone at a memory of her words from just after her arrival about how she’d hated being watched, and he recalled Fergus’sconfirmation that she was afraid of being forced back into a Circle. “I’m not sure I ever really thought about what that was like, what life in the Circle was like for mages. Not really.”

She seemed satisfied with the thin layer of oil and wedged the handle of the whetstone so she could begin sharpening her blade with long slow controlled strokes of the sword. The steady, practiced _tschik, tschik_ was comfortingly familiar to someone like Cullen who had spent his life immersed in exactly the same routines. The elf was biting her lip thoughtfully again, as if thinking very hard while keeping the blade’s edge at a precise angle. “I think everyone experiences it differently, though everyone must also have felt the Templars watching them. I remember…I remember following one of the senior mages down a corridor past Templars standing guard. I must have been very young because they were all so much taller than I was. I knew they were watching us, but I wasn’t scared of them, not then. It was a game to me; I would look at them and silently recite the names of the pieces of armor or the parts of weapons that I could see.”

She paused, resting the sword on the lumber while she stared down into her right hand, slowly curling the fingers inward one by one as if seeing something that wasn’t there. “I could feel the way an articulated gauntlet was put together and how it moved, the way an elbow cop was connected to plates so you could bend your arm and still be completely protected by armor, and how armor plates pinch if your fingers got caught between two overlapping plates. The way they sounded as metal clicked against metal and how leather creaked as it flexed and stretched. I _remembered_ the feel of wire wrapped around a hilt in my hand, the way the weight of a pommel balanced the weight of a blade.” Pale blue-grey eyes were focused on the distance. “For years, it was like a chant every time I walked past the Templars, reminding myself of…something.”

“You were so young when you went to the Circle that you don’t remember anything before that, but you already knew that much about armor and weapons?” He could never have anticipated that this conversation would take this turn, certainly not from someone who had been taken to the circle so young that even a noble child would have been unlikely to know much about armor and weapons, something far less likely for an elf. But she shrugged and began to sharpen her sword again.

“I don’t remember specific people or places, but I knew about armor and weapons and I knew I had watched them being used and handled them myself. When I left the Circle and had the chance to handle them for myself, I knew my memories were right.” She paused to sight along the edge of the blade, then continued. “But visiting alienages didn’t seem to tug at any memories. I think, instead of being from an alienage, maybe I had been raised with soldiers or mercenaries. Maybe my parents were mercenaries or maybe I was an orphan one of them had adopted, but armor and swords meant _home_ somehow.” She paused to stir the pot on the brazier. “Then when I was seven or eight, I finally understood why the Templars were there, that I was never going to stop being a mage. That those armor and weapons would never be mine.”

Surana’s words were calm, even serene, but he found himself transfixed by the thought _how would I have felt when I was twelve if my dream of being a Templar had suddenly been cut off by magic?_ He rubbed his neck uncomfortably, then realized his headache had receded to a dull pain. “I’m…sorry. You said those things meant home to you, did you stop thinking about them after that?”

“No.” The word was spoken simply, but with a finality that spoke volumes in the silence punctuated by the steady _tschik, tschik_ of her blade on the whetstone. After a minute or so, she spoke again. “It was…comforting, familiar, and I used that routine to clear my mind and focus each time I started a lesson. So I decided if I couldn’t stop being a mage, I’d be the best mage I could, especially once I realized that a few of the most trusted senior mages were able to leave the Circle. I still didn’t understand enough to really be afraid of Templars until later.”

Surana paused, holding up the blade to sight down the edge, then turning it to work on the other edge as Cullen wrestled with her last admission. Finally, he spoke hesitantly. “What happened?”

She barked a humorless laugh. “I learned to heal.”

“I don’t understand, why would that…?” He hesitated, and she halted her movement to meet his eyes measuringly for a moment before continuing, eyes firmly on the sword.

“Because once I could heal, people came to me secretly, and I suddenly understood just how unlimited power can be.” For the span of a full minute, the only sound was _Tschik, tschik_ followed by the faint sound of Timur shifting in his sunny spot to rest his eyes on Cullen. The young Templar who’d been at Kinloch Hold would not have understood, would not have believed that his brothers would abuse their charges. But the ex-Templar who had been left holding the pieces in Kirkwall, who had discovered that some of the whispers and accusations over the years had held far too much truth, things that had happened under his nose, _that_ man was far too honest to doubt what her words revealed.

“Surana…” He wanted to ask, but was afraid to know the truth, afraid he had been guilty of still more blind spots, but she anticipated the half-question.

“No. I’d spent years paying attention to what seemed to attract the attention of the Templars. I don’t know if I was lucky or if dancing a line between never showing fear or any hint of rebelliousness kept me safe. Of course, I also knew which Templars were most dangerous.” Another bark of humorless laughter. “It probably didn’t hurt that I, mmm, matured late, and by then, I had Irving’s protection.”

Surana set the sword down gently, almost lovingly, then wrapped a piece of cloth around the handle of the pot before taking it off the brazier carefully. Cautiously she walked to the desk and measured some of the warm liquid into his now-empty mug before setting the pot down on the floor next to her. Serenely, she raised her hand but waited with a raised eyebrow for his nod before touching his face, gently turning him to study his eyes intently. “How’s the headache?”

“Better, just a dull ache now.”

“Good.” She rested a warm, dry palm on his forehead with a touch so light he could barely feel it, especially now that his skin no longer felt as if it was going to explode from the pain. “I hope the herbs in this will cushion you from the lyrium hunger a little and dull some of the pain, hopefully enough to make it bearable. If it does, maybe Adan can create something that is more effective and longer lasting without making you feel worse. The trick is easing the symptoms without replacing them with a different craving.” The mage rested the back of a hand lightly against his cheek in a gesture that might have been unconscious affection but might just as well be a test to see if his skin was clammy.

“What you already did for the headache…”

She firmly put the mug in his right hand before taking his left hand in hers, measuring his pulse while giving him that stern healer’s look that told him to drink _now_.

“The Inquisitor talked to me about the way the Chantry used lyrium to control Templars, her belief that the root of most of the abuses sprang from Templars being silenced through the craving for lyrium and the threat of being denied it, and I agree with her. The dehumanizing and abuse of mages starts with the abuse of Templars. If I can do anything to help break that cycle, I will.” She was silent for a few moments, counting, then let go of his hand to rest one hip against his desk while watching him drink. This decoction wasn’t delicious like the headache tisane had been, but it wasn’t foul either, and it was somehow at a perfect temperature for drinking.

“Commander, I discovered once I left the Circle that Templars are much like everyone else. For every ten people, one or two seem to be born ready to take advantage of others and abuse any power they have, but another one or two are decent, honorable people who mean well and stand up for people. Most of the other seven or eight are usually indifferent, but in the right, or wrong, circumstances might either abuse or defend others.” She tilted her head with a ghost of a smile as he lowered the mug to gape at her, then thin scarred fingers enclosed the hand holding the mug briefly. “I have faith that the honorable man I met at Kinloch never became one of those who abused power, and even if he may have lost his way or made mistakes, he’s still that man at heart.”

Blue-grey eyes held his for a few seconds, so intense she seemed to be trying to will him to have that same faith in himself. Then a movement at his other side interrupted that private moment, and he glanced down to find that Timur had left his sunny spot and approached silently, his head now resting in Cullen’s lap with eyes just as intense as his warden partner’s. But during that second or so of distraction, Arisha whisked the pot back to the brazier, facing away from him as she added a bit more water from a bottle.

“I…should consult with Adan to see if he has any other suggestions.” Was that slight hesitancy because she was ambivalent about that almost-intimate gesture of trust or perhaps even regretted it? “It should only take a few minutes, and I can move faster if you don’t mind letting Timur keep you company.” Timur made a noise that Cullen could only interpret as derisive. “I need to come back anyway to check on you; if that brew helps, I’ll leave you some more for tonight.”

“Of course.” His hand curved reflexively around the old warrior’s grey head to scratch his ears. “I hate to tie up so much of your time.” A brief flick of her fingers dismissed his apology.

“Rylen and I certainly aren’t going to take any risks by training together when you can’t be there, and it isn’t as if I have the sort of heavy demands on my time right now that you do, Commander.” With quick practiced motions, she wiped her blade and sheathed it, vanishing out the door without meeting his eyes.

Timur’s head lifted slightly, tearing Cullen’s attention away from the door she’d exited, and he met the mabari’s amused eyes. “Why do I feel as if you’re the only one who understands what’s going on here?” Timur sneezed in laughter, and the ex-Templar managed a brief, half-hearted chuckle in spite of the pain. “Since we’re alone for the moment, I understand how important you are to Surana, but I also think you know how I feel about her. I hope you wouldn’t mind sharing her with me? If she’ll have me, of course.”

The old mabari’s sighed deeply and stared for a moment before he licked Cullen’s hand and pushed his head into the man’s palm in an unsubtle bid for a scratch, closing his eyes.

“Well, I can’t understand you the way Surana can, but I at least assume that’s not an objection. Thank you.” The grey warrior’s eyes open for a moment, then they settled into a companionable silence wreathed in the scent of apple and mint from the pot over the brazier.

* * *

 


	19. New Hay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of Mint and Apple. Breakfast with Surana and Rylen's trainees. An odd conversation with Alistair

* * *

Surana reappeared with Timur early in the evening and silently set more of her herbs to brew while she just as silently asked permission to check his pulse and forehead. Only when she was filling a mug for him did she finally ask a couple of terse questions about how much pain he was in and whether the herbs had seemed to ease the withdrawal even a little. She didn’t seem unfriendly, but Cullen wondered if she was uncomfortable with how much she’d said earlier. _Oh, by Andraste’s pyre, man, she knows you have a headache, and she’s probably just being considerate!_ No one would ever describe Surana as soothing, but he found himself rather grateful for her brusque, cool efficiency; at that moment, being fussed over would probably have resulted in an unflattering display of temper on his part.

“If you need me, send for me, and don’t worry about waking me; I don’t sleep much.” Her stern expression turned wry. “I’m expected to dance attendance on their majesties tonight anyway, though at least it’s only a small gathering in Lady Josephine’s office.”

“Maker’s breath, at least I don’t have to be there for that. I thought you were supposed to be excluded from the diplomatic and private meetings?”

He was answered by a shrug. “Apparently _her_ majesty requested my presence.”

This morning seemed like a month ago, but he couldn’t restrain a brief bark of laughter. “Maybe you should have waited to apologize until most of the negotiations were finished.”

Her eyes flashed briefly with amusement at his unexpected levity. “Probably. On the whole, though, I’d prefer to have to tolerate interminable political conversations than hostility. Barely.” Timur snorted derisively. “Besides, Timur’s quite handy at creating a diversion, and one nice thing about being back in Fereldan is that no one ever takes insult if I excuse myself when he insists.” The old mabari sneezed with laughter as he got to his feet, though he stared at Cullen intently for just a second before following Surana out the door toward the main keep.

* * *

Thankfully, the worst of the withdrawal symptoms began easing during the night, and he finally drifted off into sleep an hour or two before dawn. Not surprisingly, he also overslept, waking barely in time for breakfast, though still groggy from lack of sleep as he washed, dressed, and made his way toward the main hall.

Breakfast was the one meal that Lady Josephine wasn’t orchestrating during the state visit, and a few days before the Fereldans arrived, Surana had requested a separate breakfast table just for the Templars and mages who were beginning to train together. Cullen had been rather impressed himself with her arguments that while at any time, unit cohesion and camaraderie were essential, it was even more crucial to nurture those bonds when building a single unit from two groups who traditionally distrusted and even feared each other, with or without reason. Not that he should be surprised, he reminded himself, even if her command skill and experience came through the apprenticeship of hard reality in the field.

To emphasize his support, he suggested that he also eat with the small group most mornings, though he politely made certain that Rylen sat next to Surana to stress their partnered role in command while he took a seat on Timur’s other side. Some of the awe had worn off in the process of her relentless drills, and both Templars and mages were still understandably curious about the blight, discovering that she was a bit less reserved with them about the Wardens than she was with the others in the Inquisition. This morning, she visibly rolled her eyes near the end of breakfast when one of the mages mentioned Thom Ranier’s impersonation of a Grey Warden.

“If Leliana didn’t know he was a fake within ten minutes of meeting him, I’ll strip naked, paint myself with kaddis, and dance the remigold.” Several people almost choked on the hot tea they were drinking; one Templar partner had to resort to pounding his mage partner on the back to help him get his breath back. Cullen and Rylen were a bit more accustomed to her unique turn of phrase and presented unperturbed faces. “The border was closed; only one Warden was sent across from Orlais and his name wasn’t Blackwall. She knows quite well that he’s dead too.”

The Templar Lysette raised an eyebrow in surprise. “I never heard there was a third Warden alive in Fereldan after Ostagar?”

Surana cupped her mug of coffee, studying the young woman thoughtfully. Timur took the bite of toasted rye bread that Cullen was offering him (under the table,) then turned to rest his head in his partner’s lap. “You’re from Denerim I think, Lynette? Well, there was. His name was Riordan. The Orlesian wardens sent him to investigate whether it was really a blight because he was born in Fereldan, but he was captured and held in Howe’s dungeon cells until just before the Landmeet.” She shrugged, “Arl Eamon and her majesty decided not to mention him in official accounts because they weren’t convinced he did much and I couldn’t prove anything.”

Rylen rested his chin in his hand, clearly as fascinated as the rest of the table. “Are you saying he did?”

The elven woman bent her head, scratching Timur’s ears thoughtfully. “Understand that I underwent the Joining just hours before the Ferelden wardens were wiped out at Ostagar, and Alistair didn’t know much more about Wardens and stopping a blight, honestly. Until we found Riordan, we didn’t even know what was required to kill an archdemon. And, have you ever considered the problem of fighting something very large that can fly? Wardens have always had griffons in the past during a blight, and I’d been trying to work out how we could ground it for months.” She raised her head and scanned the intense faces around the table.

“That song Maryden sings—you were on the roof of Fort Drakkon when you killed him?” Rylen’s voice was coaxing; not surprising given how Surana had avoided any mention of that final battle.

“True. But he’d only landed on the roof because someone had badly damaged his wing and he couldn’t really get airborne. We were still fighting our way through Denerim when we heard the archdemon scream and when we looked up to see him spiraling down to the top of Fort Drakkon, we also saw something else falling.” She stared back down at Timur. “We found what was left of Riordan later; he fell from a great height, and I’ll always believe he damaged the beast’s wing somehow and gave us our chance.” She smoothed Timur’s ears and offered him a bite of sausage from her plate. “So yes, without Riordan, even if we’d been able to engage the beast, it would have been a fight against an airborne opponent. Even if we’d somehow managed to kill him, we wouldn’t have walked away relatively whole, would we, old friend?” Her affectionate words were answered with a snort of disbelief, and the mage laughed, slipping him another bite of sausage.

“Wait, I thought you were injured when you struck the killing blow against the archdemon? I mean…”

Arisha stroked Timur’s head thoughtfully, “That’s what I’m told.” She met Lysette’s puzzled stare with a bland expression. “I remember the archdemon going down, grabbing a sword and charging forward intending to finish him off. Then I opened my eyes with old Wynne bending over me and Timur licking my face.” She and the old warrior traded affectionately amused glances. “I’m told the archdemon knocked me down as it died, and I must have taken a blow to the head. So no, I don’t actually remember _killing_ the archdemon, ironically, and at that point, there was a city full of darkspawn still to deal with, and not all of them were running.” Her bland tone slipped a little, and her voice was simply resigned, “Blights are only the tip of the thaig in the war that Wardens fight, day in and day out.”

Someone cleared their throat behind her. A dozen heads jerked up suddenly, and people began to rise in a hurry as they discovered King Alistair and Teryn Fergus hovering sheepishly, but Alistair quickly waved them back to their seats. “Sorry to disturb you all, but it looked as if you were done eating and my queen is requesting the presence of the Warden Commander for a few minutes, if it’s convenient?”

Surana nodded, rising briskly then waited for Timur to step down off his bench. “Of course.” Fergus stepped forward, bowing elegantly and offering her his arm with only a hint of mischief.

“My dear lady, if I may be your escort?”

She glared at him, but took his arm. “What, I’m too delicate now to walk to the other end of the hall alone, your lordship?”

“Not at all.” He met Cullen and Rylen’s eyes briefly before turning her toward the head of the hall with Timur pressed against Surana’s other side. “Considering how the Orlesians part before you two, I feel safer with you at my side, my dear Warden Commander.”

“Save it for the sycophants, your lordship. Does her majesty want the Warden Commander or the Hero?” Surana’s tart voice floated back, but they didn’t hear Fergus’s answer.

Instead of returning to their chairs, the Templar and mage pairs wandered off together to whatever Surana and Rylen had assigned each this morning. But when King Alistair only watched them leave and didn’t follow Fergus and Surana, Cullen and Rylen remained politely waiting until he suddenly turned that boyishly engaging smile on the two of them. “Commander, we didn’t really have a chance to talk much yesterday, and Knight Captain, I believe you’re Surana’s Templar partner in this project of hers? Do you think I might trouble one or both of you for a bit of a tour of the Inquisitions’ forces?” He glanced back over his shoulder conspiratorially. “If we hurry, we might get out of the hall before my guards notice I’m missing. Or someone decides I need to sit in while half a dozen people debate vital questions like who gets to sit next to the Inquisitor at dinner tonight.”

* * *

Cullen was slightly uneasy at helping the king evade his guards, less because of any danger—after all, all three men were Templar-trained, armed and armored—and more for fear that he was helping disrupt Josephine’s carefully planned itinerary. But only slightly uneasy. Apparently the three men and Surana shared a common distaste for the sort of meeting Lady Josephine adored.

Half way across the bridge to Cullen’s tower, his majesty paused, leaning against the parapet to watch the people bustling around the merchants gathered by the stables. “Lovely place you have here, would have been handy during the Blight.” Taking that as an invitation, Cullen and Rylen leant cautiously on the parapet on either side of him, nodding agreement. “I overheard that last bit Surana was telling you at breakfast, about ‘taking a blow to the head’ when she killed the archdemon? You do realize she, how does Fergus put it, ‘sanitizes’ her stories?”

“I’m…not sure I know what you mean? Are you saying she’s lying about not remembering killing the archdemon?”

“Maker, no! She’s a lousy liar, you know, but she only tells people as much of the truth as she thinks they need to hear.” A wagon passed under the bridge on its way to the stables, and the scent of freshly mown hay was carried up to them on a warm breeze. “I was there, and when she cut his throat open and drove that blade into his brain case, it knocked her thirty feet through the air before she came down, and she was injured even before that, we all were.” The king closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “There wasn’t a mage left on that roof who had any healing skill and enough mana left to do a thing for her, and not a potion left among us, and we were still fighting the remaining darkspawn on the roof as they began to flee. She almost died before we could get Wynne there from the gate.”

“Why would she hide that?”

His majesty snorted in a very un-regal manner, glancing sideways at Rylen. “You do know Surana? Wynne no sooner had her on her feet than she and Timur collected the forces still standing to begin clearing the rest of the darkspawn from Denerim. Or did you think darkspawn instantly vanish once an archdemon is dead? _And_ she handed me over to Arl Eamon, Wynne, an assassin named Zevran, and a qunari with orders to make certain I got cleaned up and put to work helping Anora start getting the city restored to order.” He grinned reminiscently. “Anora was quite capable of taking care of almost anything without me, so you can imagine I didn’t exactly take Surana’s high-handedness very well at the time, but she was probably right that it was more important that we reassure Fereldan that Anora and I would work together than adding my single blade.

“They cleared Denerim, then they started clearing the area around Denerim of darkspawn, bandits, and other unfriendly sorts. At some point, Eamon sent Zevran and Wynne out to haul Surana and Timur in by the collars to clean them up enough for the coronation and celebration, but they snuck back out of the palace after dark while everyone was distracted.” He shrugged. “I doubt she spent a night in Denerim for six months, certainly not at the palace, and after the first month, most of the forces following her had melted back away to wherever they’d come from. I’m not sure even Leliana or Zevran knew where they were most of the time and after she disappeared, her Warden Constable told me that she had insisted on ‘leading from the front’ and wasn’t even at Warden’s Keep for more than a night or two each month most of the time until she disappeared.” He met Cullen’s eyes measuringly as the blonde ex-Templar straightened in alarm, and seemed aware that Rylen had done the same without turning.

“Wait, are you saying she never stopped fighting for the nine or ten _years_ between leaving Kinloch and disappearing?”

“So Fergus says, not that he bothered to inform _us_ until after she’d vanished.” The king sighed. “Not that it occurred to us to check up on her. But she either learned to enjoy camping a lot more than I remember, or she was taking a lot of unnecessary risks on purpose. From what we’ve heard since we arrived, you two seem to have a little influence over her, and I thought you might be inclined to exert a little of that with her.” Alistair stared back out toward the stable where groomsmen were using pitchfork to toss hay into the loft. “Whether she believes it or not, Fereldan still needs her, and we’d be grateful.”

* * *

* * *

 Thanks to CuriousArtemis for the phrase “tip of the thaig.”


	20. Storm Pine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Teryn Fergus, Surana and one of Cole's confused conversations.

* * *

The conversation between his majesty and the two ex-Templars was brief and terse, enforced by the appearance of two of Alistair’s guards whose unconcealed smugness suggested that tracking down a missing monarch was a familiar game with them. The tour then proceeded briskly, and both men discovered that the Fereldan monarch not only had a lively sense of humor but displayed a keen attention to the details that built a competent military force.

They hadn’t quite finished the tour when a messenger from Anora summoned Alistair to a private meeting with the Inquisitor and Josephine, however. As soon as he vanished, Cullen and Rylen exchanged glances and a few words that confirmed both had been thinking the same thing for the past hour. Cullen, guiltily aware of how much he’d left undone the prior day, retired to his office after dispatching Jim with a polite request for Teryn Fergus to join him when it was convenient. Rylen, however, took advantage of his status as Cullen’s second in command began discretely engaging in friendly chats with a few officers who commanded the royal delegation’s military escort.

Teryn Fergus appeared quietly in Cullen’s office mid-morning, waiting unnoticed until the officer speaking to Cullen finished. When the Fereldan approached his desk, Cullen’s questions were terse, if polite. However Fergus straightened and became intent within the first minute, taking the time to answer carefully. When they finished, he studied the ex-Templar. “You seem very worried, is it important?”

Cullen stared out the open doorway, then poured a glass of weak apple cider for each of them, remaining silent until the passing shadow of a guard patrol retreated. “Maybe. Tell me, I don’t know a great deal about what nobles are taught: were you given the sort of training they give military officers?”

The teryn shook his head thoughtfully as he accepted the cider. “Not really. Oh, nobles are expected to provide troops and even lead them from time to time, and of course we patrol our lands and respond to requests for help from our people. But while I had a knight’s training in arms, my sister and I learned the rest in the field by riding patrols with experienced officers in command at first, then paired with some of the older sergeants when we first started commanding patrols ourselves. It’s rare that we would expect to be in the field for even a few months at a time since restoration under Maric. I thought it was odd, but…”

He paused when Cullen shook his head. “The circumstances were unusual…”

Fergus coughed into his hand, possibly to cover a laugh, though his eyes weren’t amused. “That, Commander, is an understatement. I feel quite certain that the wardens are not in the habit of putting a new recruit with no combat experience or military training in command of a region’s wardens. Or let a pair of recruits try to stop a blight by themselves, much less somehow succeed. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that there was no oversight, especially when she probably appeared to them to have everything under control.”

“And no one ever stopped to think…”

“No.” The teryn leaned back in the chair, cupping the glass of cider thoughtfully. “Commander, I doubt you want my advice, and you probably don’t actually need it. But you’re going to need a lot of patience.”

Cullen locked eyes with the dark-haired man. “I don’t think you’re still talking about her overextending herself.”

“No.”

“Not that I disagree, but what is your interest in this, your lordship?” Cullen rather surprised himself with the crisp, almost impersonal way he snapped out the question, but Fergus just smiled wryly.

“She’s a friend, Commander, and someone I owe a great deal to. And just in case the thought has crossed your mind, no, we are not and have never been lovers.” He shrugged at his own bluntness. “You wouldn’t be the first to wonder since it’s no secret that my teryna and I have a marriage of convenience—her convenience even more than mine.”

Cullen shifted, more than a little surprised at the teryn’s frankness. “I…see. I _am_ patient, your lordship. I think you know Surana well enough to have guessed, but a dozen years ago, neither of us could say anything. Until she arrived, I didn’t even know she’d ever known that I was…fond of her, much less guessed that she might have felt something herself. But while she is still a mage, I’m not a Templar now, though I never expected to see her again and have a chance… so however long it takes her to feel safe, yes, I am patient, your lordship.”

“She believes she would be terrible for you, you know. That she’ll get her Calling, leave you behind, hurt you.”

Cullen blinked several times at the casual words, then barked a bitter laugh. “It would hurt far more to have her walk away now that we have another chance, Maker’s breath! But even if she never…well, I owe it to her to try to see if things can be set right, as much as they can be.”

The teryn toasted Cullen with his glass of cider, then downed it before rising to his feet. “Then I wish you luck. If there’s anything I can do to help with either, let me know, Commander.”

* * *

 The next morning, Cullen and Surana drilled at the pells in companionable silence, hardly exchanging half a dozen words, but the light was still cool and dim when a messenger arrived with a message requesting the Commander’s presence at an unplanned pre-breakfast meeting. She watched him leave thoughtfully, then turned toward the bench to discover that Timur had acquired company in the minute or two since she’d last glanced in that direction.

“Good morning, Cole.”

Arisha wasn’t terribly surprised to see him; he appeared every day or two, drawn by a need to help that she found touching, if a little frustrating. The young man continued scratching the old mabari’s ears from his seat on the ground, but his head was tilted back so he could watch Cullen leave from under his hat.

“I see a moth circling a flame, but which of you is the moth and which is the flame?”

Silence for a moment, then she sat down on the bench, hand resting on Timur’s shoulder. “If you’re seeing that in my thoughts, then I’m the flame. I was used to hurt him before, and I won’t let it happen again if I can help it.”

“You told me that, but when the nightmares found him, you didn’t hurt him.” Cole produced several of the fried meat-and-bread tidbits that Timur loved from somewhere she didn’t see, though his eyes remained on her face in such an absent-minded way that she hoped, and knew it was pointless to hope, that he’d missed the jolt his words sent through her.

“What do you mean, _I_ didn’t hurt him?”

“His dreams, I couldn’t understand them before you came. So beautiful, but no, rosewater and violets, wrong somehow. She’s dead but how? No, it isn’t her, it isn’t him, stop!” Cole fed another treat to Timur, his brows drawn together as if puzzling something out. “Then you came and it…changed. _She_ flees from storm pine, and then he feels…home.”

“I…even if that’s true, Cole, he’s been hurt enough, and…and I could hear my Calling tomorrow. What kindness would that be to him? He got over the infatuation once, he can again.”

“Warm eyes watching me, he seems so kind, but no. It would never be safe, you can’t trust anything in the Circle… And watching, Maker help me, I shouldn’t be watching a mage, but how could I not notice her? Such calm eyes, they say she’s gifted but so quiet, maybe she’s shy?...Return to the Tower, Maker, what did they do to him? His words, cutting through me….Feelings, slumbering, sleeping, trying to forget…it would be cruel to him to see him after that, best to forget…Maker, what did I say to her? Better to forget, I don’t think I could face her…” Cole tilted his head curiously. “But neither of you forgot.”

Briskly she jumped off the bench and began gathering her things, biting her lip. “Cole, please don’t say any of those things to anyone else. I…I was wrong to listen to you tell me any of what he’s dreamt or thought. Even if all of that is true, it doesn’t change _anything_.” Timur rose slowly from the old rug he’d been resting on, snorting at her. “I… I can’t think of that right now.”

“Pain, grief, guilt, it’s my fault, why did I let it happen? I should have been able to do something!” Arisha shook her head silently and strode away toward her room, a last phrase drifting after her in the cool light. “He doesn’t blame you.”

* * *

* * *

 

This loveliness of Arisha and Timur traveling together was a gift from Cerulione at [Cerulione-Draws!](http://cerulione-draws.tumblr.com/)

Thank you so much!


	21. Old Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why the Warden Commander really went into the West and a bargain
> 
> WARNING: this chapter includes mentions of thoughts of self-harm.

At lunch, Rylen was seated next to Timur while Surana’s meal companion was a Ferelden arlessa. The two women spoke politely, but briefly and without warmth, and Rylen made a mental note of the woman’s face as someone to avoid. Surana said very little in general, her attention turned inward, though she smiled briefly at Rylen when she noticed him feeding bits of warm rye bread to an appreciative Timur.

Near the end of lunch, Rylen leaned over Timur and spoke quietly. “Warden Commander, the Commander wants to meet with us after lunch if you’re free.”

“Of course, Knight Captain.” From the barely disguised relief in her voice, Rylen estimated that she was more than a little wary of the arlessa, adding to his sense that the Fereldan noble was potentially dangerous.

However, all distraction vanished and Surana and Timur abruptly shifted to an intent alertness as he led her toward the lower level of the keep and into the small library that had held old books and the remains of old books when the Inquisition had arrived. Debris and the most damaged books had been cleaned away, and it was now often used for small, private meetings, particularly when people wanted to avoid the interruptions all too common in the advisors’ offices or the war room. Surana was clearly a bit curious at their choice of location for the meeting, but otherwise seemed unphased.

Cullen was leaning against the desk, waiting for them, and both men observed curiously as Surana frowned at the stone floor, then took off her coat and spread it out wordlessly next to a chair for Timur to lie on. Only once he was settled comfortably did she take the chair and look between the two men questioningly.

“Surana, we know you were pressed into leadership with the Grey Wardens almost overnight and with no actual training in leading combat troops. You may not believe us, but what you’ve managed to learn about that on your own is extraordinary. But...” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck for a moment before he seemed to remember himself, “well, if you won’t take it wrong, we think that there may be a few things no one ever thought to warn you about.”

“I don’t understand, what do you mean?”

Rylen spoke bluntly, “You don’t leave people in the field who are seeing a lot of combat for too long.”

“Why not?” Timur chose that moment to rest his head in her lap, distracting her from staring at them too closely as she began stroking his head absently.

“Too many alarms and deaths, too much combat and killing, particularly when it’s a really bad situation…after a while, it’s more than a soldier can take if they’re pushed too far. Some stop caring and some of those will go bad and start taking it out on anyone they can reach. Others start drinking heavily or try to escape in other ways. Most of the time, those could have been avoided, but they’re easy enough to spot early when they happen and sometimes all they need is a little time away from combat. But when someone has a particularly strong will, sometimes they can resist and hide what’s going on, and those are the ones we worry about the most.” Rylen’s words were matter-of-fact, his attention on the sheet of paper he held, but the woman’s hand slowed on Timur’s head.

“Why?”

“Because the longer they hide and appear to be able to continue normally, the more damage they do to themselves, particularly if they are in command and take that command seriously. Eventually, if they hide long enough, they break, and the best that can be hoped for then is that they simply freeze up in an emergency and someone else reacts in time.”

“And the worst case?” Her words came slowly and in a low voice, her hand and face now frozen, her eyes fixed on Rylen.

“We lose people, sometimes the person gets others killed, sometimes the person…makes sure that can’t happen.” Cullen had chosen to let Rylen make the initial explanations, but now he spoke softly and evenly. “Surana, between the time Duncan conscripted you and you left with Timur on this trip, what was the longest you stayed out of the field, out of potential combat?”

“I…can’t remember. Two days? Maybe three a couple of times?” She now stared at Cullen, frozen in place. “Even when I visited Denerim or Fergus, there was always something they needed help with…. How…how do you know when there’s a problem?”

 “A lot depends on the person. That person withdraws, stops spending time with friends, loses or gains weight, tries to isolate themselves, becomes irritable, complains of being tired or _looks_ tired. They begin doubting themselves, question even their best decisions and actions, try to control things personally more and more often, or blame themselves for every death or injury. He or she clearly begins believing that nothing they’ve done matters.”

Surana had become a silent statue, staring at him even after Timur shifted to take her hand in his mouth. The two ex-Templars had debated the best way to broach the subject with her the day before, finally agreeing that she valued honesty and would accept it better if they asked her directly. But at some level, both he and Rylen had worried that she would take offense or storm off, refusing to discuss their concerns at all, and he’d mostly felt relief at first that she was listening so calmly. But the way she stared, her face a mask concealing whatever thoughts were passing through her mind, all of it began to scare him a little. Silently, he gave Rylen a signal with his hand, and the other man went to the door of the library, standing just outside with the door closed as they’d agreed earlier to make certain no one entered. Cullen continued to hold the woman’s eyes.

The door had barely closed behind Rylen when Surana slid out of the chair to her knees, arms wrapping around Timur with her face buried against his broad, grey neck, and the old mabari’s cloudy eyes fixed on Cullen’s face silently. Finally, she spoke quietly without moving, words muffled by her guardian’s neck.

“You…how did you…?”

“I didn’t, not for certain. Most of those things alone we might not have noticed. But there were too many little things that bothered me. How tired you said you were…how tired and defeated you _still_ look when you don’t think anyone’s watching. All those scars from times you didn’t heal yourself completely, as if you didn’t care what happened to you. The way you talked about your mistakes and how much you doubted yourself despite everything you’ve accomplished. The note in your voice when you said you wanted to take Timur back into the wilderness alone. How Timur stays so close to you constantly, even for a mabari.”

Her shoulders moved briefly with what he realized was a brief bark of humorless laughter. “I had no idea I was being so obvious. So much for my acting ability.”

“Any one of those, or even a few, might be coincidence, and it isn’t as if you knew they might mean anything to anyone else.” He spoke gently. “I’m rather glad you didn’t guess those things might suggest something to us so you didn’t manage to hide even longer.”

Cullen waited patiently, knowing the next step had to be her choice. “I didn’t plan to come back, you know. During the blight, everything was so urgent, but we knew what we needed to do; kill the archdemon, or die in the attempt, that would be the end of it, right? And the blight ended, but the war didn’t, not for me. At first, I thought, just help restore order, clean up the darkspawn on the surface, then I could rest a little, take a breath and actually see what life outside the Circle, life as a Grey Warden, was like. Except the darkspawn kept raiding and one crisis followed another. And another. And another. And I realized that the war never stops for the Wardens.

“The first two or three years were hard, but I didn’t really notice any problems. But then, every decision I made that cost a life, every time we lost another warden or recruit, I grew a little more tired until I felt exhausted through to my bones, then every decision, every fight, I had to force myself to keep going.” She shrugged, her face still hidden. “It was worst right after we lost someone in the Joining…I’d chosen the wrong person and they died for nothing. My mistake, my guilt, another face to point a finger at me in my dreams. Finally, I thought…I thought I was turning into a coward or maybe going mad. And I knew…I couldn’t stay without putting my Wardens at risk. Sooner or later I would freeze in the middle of a fight or when they needed a decision in an emergency, and people would die because I hesitated.”

_“Sometimes I never want to make another decision again…”_ Cullen cursed himself and the fog of lyrium withdrawal that had made him forget those words until now.

“But Fereldan would never just let me walk away and I couldn’t…I couldn’t admit to anyone… I hated myself because I had to fight to do anything, all those things that had come so easily for so long. Finally I thought it would be best for everyone if I was…if I was dead.” Surana spoke emotionlessly, but oh! The exhaustion in her voice. “But I was afraid the Wardens would think they were the reason, and how would they explain if people started asking questions? And Fergus would have. And Zevran and Leliana, once they heard. I could have left a letter, but…how would I tell them that their hero was a coward? I may hate it, but I can’t pretend that that sodding legend doesn’t give people hope. So…I started planning an ‘accident.’ Investigate something on the edge of a high, sheer cliff, a gust of wind comes along, who would ever suspect I summoned the wind myself? Or if they did, they would only have suspicions.” She fell silent finally, and after a few moments he prompted her gently, trying to keep either pity or anger from his voice.

“What happened?”

_Andraste preserve us, how could the wardens, how could everyone who knew her have missed this!_

“Timur.” She raised her face from the mabari’s neck, gazing into her old friend’s eyes. “I had everything worked out and was alone in my quarters while he watched, putting my things in order without making it _look_ intentional. Finally he got up and dropped a journal into my lap and just sat staring at me.” The elven woman stroked Timur’s head gently as their eyes stayed locked. “It was the journal I’d used to gather all the clues to a possible cure for the Joining and as he stared at me, I finally realized that if I had gone over that cliff, he’d have followed, and that…that thought was worse than having people know I was a coward. But legitimate Warden business, a possible cure, no one would think to wonder whether I planned to come back until I was too far away for anyone to try to follow. The Wardens would continue acting like I would return until they were simply used to me not being there anymore, and I’d just fade into vague myths. No one would ever know I'd run away.”

“But you came back.”

She barked another humorless laugh and reburied her face in the mabari’s neck. “Funny, that. First, we went in the right direction just in case anyone was watching. Once we got past the border of Orlais, we just kind of…kept going. It could change things so much for the Wardens, and the search gave me something to focus on, I guess. I wasn’t quite so tired once it was just the two of us anyway, and I found I didn’t mind only having Timur to talk to. I couldn’t remember ever being… _alone_ before. And then I discovered the Maker has an even stranger sense of humor, because the trail actually led somewhere, whether or not it works, and I couldn’t not come back.”

She fell silent again, her face turned into the old warrior’s grey neck, then Timur locked eyes again with Cullen. _Sweet Andraste, he’s known something was wrong, whether or not he understood what it was! And I think…I think he’s been trying to tell me._ He found himself clenching his fists, desperately wanting to reach out to her to comfort her and knowing that he couldn’t. Not yet.

“Escaping for a while helped, but now the very thought of resuming that power of life and death, fighting every day, struggling to stop sliding toward not caring, not taking the easy answers no matter the costs,…that thought makes me want to lie down and sleep and surrender to blessed darkness forever. But at the same time, being the Warden Commander, making certain the ordinary people in Ferelden are protected as much as possible both from the darkspawn and from wardens themselves—it gives me purpose and has given me a reason to wake up every day. Being conscripted, surviving the Joining, being forced into command…that’s all I have left and in the end, there’s nothing else.” Timur licked her hair affectionately, but his eyes remained fixed on Cullen, not begging, but perhaps…urging him on. “Sometimes, Timur’s been the only thing that’s anchored me, and I’m ashamed for being so weak.”

“Blessed Andraste, Surana, you aren’t weak! If you were weak, you would have given in a long time ago! It’s the people who _do_ keep trying, who won’t tell anyone they need help, the people who will themselves to keep going long past the point they should, who push body and mind too far, that sooner or later, it’s just too much.” He forced himself to stand still, and firmly ignored the chill he felt at the thought she might have been lost forever to simple ignorance.

Watching her with Timur, suddenly all too, well, not human, but certainly alarmingly mortal in her need for her guardian’s comfort, he suddenly was reminded of his Templar training. There had been an exercise intended to develop balance and coordination in which trainees tried to sit on a one-legged stool. Most of the trainees, uncoordinated young people in their mid-teens, found it an embarrassing ordeal, and few had ever achieved more than a very wobbly success. He remembered his envy for the one or two who excelled at the torturous exercise, especially one young woman who could not only balance with no sign of effort, but could drink from a cup of hot tea at the same time without slopping a drop into the saucer or spilling a drop. But he’d also once seen her when she stood up from the stool, the shaking of her legs evidence that it had been far from effortless. _That’s what Surana’s been doing, balancing on a one-legged stool with a cup of hot tea, smiling and convincing everyone it takes no effort while her muscles scream. And the leg supporting her…is Timur!_

“Am I…am I mad?” Her words were calm, but Cullen knew now that that iron control, the masks she wore concealed much more than any of them had guessed.

“No, but you have hurt yourself and you need to stop pushing yourself so hard, at least for a little while, and stop trying to will yourself to do more and more. In fact, what usually seems to help people heal is to spend some time only doing easy, enjoyable things.” He forced himself to think of her as a junior officer who’d been pushing herself so hard she’d pulled a muscle…which in a way wasn’t a bad analogy and helped his words flow more easily. “Learning to do a _few_ things just for fun would probably do you good.”

To his relief, he heard a muffled though brief laugh. “You? The commanding officer whose troops take bets on whether or not he sleeps at his desk six nights of seven, telling me I need to learn to have fun?”

Cullen laughed softly in return. “I do no such thing! I don’t sleep at my desk more than three nights in seven, thank you very much. In honesty, yes, there are times I have pushed myself that hard, but I do pay attention to my limits. And when there isn’t an emergency, I play chess several times a week with Dorian or Charter. _I_ haven’t tried to keep everyone away from me.”

“Just Varric and Sera?” She raised her head again, laughing blue-grey eyes meeting his, though there was an uncertainty in the way Surana searched his eyes that suggested she still wasn’t convinced that he and Rylen wouldn’t judge her a coward.

“Maker’s breath! Just wait until Varric decides you’re too serious.” Cullen abruptly sat down on a low bench next to them, suddenly conscious of looming over her. “You know Rylen and I will protect your secret as best we can. And you could take a chance and let friends, old and new, close to you again.” He rubbed the back of his neck reflexively. “You’ve seen me at my worst more than once and haven’t held it against me, Surana. Please, trust me to do the same for you?” Impulsively, he bent forward and extended one hand to her, as if offering to seal a bargain. For a few seconds, the mage hesitated before placing her slender, calloused hand in his, holding onto it firmly while she studied his face.

“Will I…will it get better?”

“Yes.” He spoke confidently. “It’ll be hard, you’ll still have times it overwhelms you again, times when you seem to be losing, and you’ll probably never be able to push yourself as hard as you did before. But sometimes just knowing that you have overextended yourself, being willing to ask for help, that can make the difference in getting through it.”

Timur rose creakily and moved forward to stiffly raise a paw. Pressure from Surana lowered their hands so he was able to rest his paw on top of their joined hands as if reinforcing their bargain. Or, Cullen thought under the old warrior’s intense gaze, giving a blessing?

* * *

* * *

I’m a veteran and I have friends who have experienced problems after combat. I also have lived with close family with severe depression. I have to believe both of these would be recognized by the military in Thedas and the Templars, especially considering what they’d face normally, and I'd think the Wardens would be particularly susceptible considering what they face. I think Theodosians would have their own ideas about these problems and about practical, empirical treatments. I may no claim to be an expert, but they wouldn’t be either.


	22. Cloved Orange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chess game and a letter from an old friend

* * *

 

“Chess? But I don’t know how to play chess.” Surana stared uneasily between the board and the two men.

“That’s the idea.” Cullen gestured to the chair for her to sit down. “It’s something new that you can just enjoy. And I think the game will suit you.”

She sat down a bit reluctantly, one hand reaching down to pet Timur who had settled onto a sun-warmed old rug that was waiting next to the chair. “And losing repeatedly to the best chess player in Skyhold is supposed to be fun how? Or did you think I hadn’t been warned by Zheevá, Commander?”

 The elf raised a thin eyebrow when Rylen instead took the chair across the board from her, and Cullen pulled up a stool on her side opposite Timur. “Ah, but you’ll have the best chess player in Skyhold _coaching_ you. Rylen learned the rules when he was a recruit, but never played much.”

 “Hmm.” She looked between the two ex-Templars measuringly. “Well, if it was just Rylen, I’d assume he was trying to get revenge for the bruise I gave him yesterday, but I’ll trust that you, Commander, wouldn’t stoop to helping him.”

 Rylen snorted. “Not likely. Our good Commander is still stinging from a bet I won last night. If anything, he’s expecting _you_ to humiliate _me_. I think only the Inquisitor has managed to beat him at his favorite game more than once.”

 “Bet?” Surana grinned in hopeful inquiry at Rylen, but Cullen reached in and picked up one of the pieces.

 “You can coax that story out of him when I’m not around to be embarrassed, Warden Commander.” Cullen mock-glowered at the pair. “Now, this is a pawn, there are eight on a side. They move one space, forward in a straight line…”

* * *

 Surana quickly memorized the basic rules. Cullen suppressed a smirk when Rylen reacted with surprise at her fierce concentration as she repeated them, then as they began playing their first game. The apprentice Surana had always reminded him of a falcon focusing on its prey when she was intent on learning anything new, and if anything, the Warden Commander was even more intense.

 Cullen remained silent as they played unless Surana directly asked him a question, recognizing that she was using the first game to work out a practical sense of how the rules worked. More, he sensed that she had mentally conceded the first game to Rylen before they even started in favor of evaluating his strategy and tactics, both strengths and weaknesses. Cullen had been speculating when he got this idea, true, but if the Warden Commander had learned to lead forces as large as small armies during the blight mostly on her own, then she surely had an instinctive grasp of both strategic and tactical thinking. From things he’d noticed her say in planning meetings with him and Rylen, he felt certain she’d built on that by studying combat manuals after the blight. Judging by the cool speculation he saw in her eyes each time she moved a piece then watched Rylen’s response, he was almost certain he’d been right; she’d immediately grasped that understanding how your opponent thought and played was as important as understanding the game itself.

  _Oh, admit it. You’re hoping she’ll take to the game so you’ll have that excuse to spend more time with her. And while she may have a talent for it, that doesn’t mean she’ll enjoy it._ He watched as Surana moved, leaving a pawn vulnerable, her eyes fixed on Rylen’s face as he saw the opening and almost took it before he realized he’d be leaving his mage open to her knight. There was a subtle flash of approval across her face, so subtle he doubted Rylen would have detected it, but Cullen recognized that she was also evaluating Rylen as a field co-commander. Just now she’d tried to determine whether the Freemarcher was impulsive or not, and the Commander suppressed a chuckle.

 The first game, surprisingly, took almost fifteen minutes, each player taking their time to consider their moves carefully. An experienced player could have beaten either of them in a handful of moves, of course, but he couldn’t remember a first game with so few obvious mistakes either. Charter wordlessly joined them to observe halfway through the game, depositing a pitcher of hard cider on a nearby table as well as a basket from which arose the delicious aroma of warm pastries. A minute or two after she arrived, Cullen noticed Timur, who had sat up to watch the game attentively, regally accepting offerings of the fried meat and bread tidbits he loved from the new spymaster. Charter, who he knew from experience was one of the best chess players in Skyhold, was silently studying Surana instead of the game itself, and he wondered how much she knew about Surana’s condition. Well, her presence suggested approval if she knew, and she could be a valuable silent partner in helping Surana recover.

 Unsurprisingly, Rylen won. But while Surana’s face retained her normal disciplined, remote mask she had worn throughout the game, Cullen detected a spark of amusement in her eyes that suggested the next game might go quite differently. Both players needed to stretch after remaining bent over and intent for so long, and they greeted Charter cheerfully when they straightened, especially when she passed round mugs of cider and napkins with substantial, filling pastries. Rylen studied the pastries curiously, fried sweet dough with chunks of apple or pear or cherry.

 “I’ve seen these served once or twice, what are they?”

 Charter shrugged. “They’re Fereldan; they call them fritters in Denerim, but I’ve seen the same thing in Redcliffe called bear paws.” They all chuckled, though when she dryly added that detail Rylen almost choked on his bite of pastry; the area around Redcliffe was notorious for the number of bears in the area, particularly since the blight.

 While there was a little laughter and teasing about the game, the four mostly ate and drank in companionable silence, and Surana in particular seemed deep in reflection, eyes on the chess board. After the pair wiped the remains of the pastry from their fingers, the opponents began playing the second time even more slowly and thoughtfully. Whereas in their first match, Surana appeared to be testing almost random moves with seemingly little long range strategy, now she immediately took the offensive, forcing Rylen into reacting defensively almost from his first move. In fact, her unorthodox strategy seemed reckless. When they were well into the game Rylen captured a knight, two pawns, and then a mage almost in succession, but Cullen’s eyes silently met Charter’s raised eyebrow with one of his own as the Freemarcher took the offered mage in quick triumph. Without hesitation, Surana took Rylen’s tower with a tower that had sat unmoving and forgotten throughout the entire game, then relaxed back in the chair to cross her arms, her thin lip caught between her teeth as she studied the board where her tower now had a clean approach to his king.

 “Check, and mate in the next move, I believe.” Rylen blinked as it sunk in that he’d not only overlooked her tower when he took the mage with his knight, but he’d both opened the way for her tower and blocked his own king’s escape.

 “Maker’s breath, I thought you’d never played this before Surana? Or was the Commander signaling you where I couldn’t see to get his revenge?”

 Surana raised her mug of cider in a cheerful toast, a wicked gleam in her eye. “I’ve had just a _little_ practice at directing a battlefield, keeping track of where everyone is, and predicting where they’ll be or how they’ll react. Admittedly, most darkspawn are fairly predictable, but there are always those who aren’t. The same for bandits.” She shrugged before taking a long draw on the mug. “It won’t work on you a second time I think, but Templars rarely face more than one or two opponents at a time, and when they do, those opponents almost never act as an organized, coordinated force. So I counted on unnerving you a little by going on the attack.”

 At this point, Surana insisted that Cullen and Charter play a game in order to let the two novices rest, or in her case, digest the rules a bit more. She took his place on the stool, silently watching as she fed bits of a fritter to Timur. Rylen leaned against a pillar and added pithy, slightly insubordinate observations which were mostly directed at the Commander. Despite Rylen’s earlier comment, Charter was a skilled enough player to beat Cullen occasionally. Fortunately, he found that his awareness of Arisha’s calm, reserved presence so close to him helped him focus more intently than usual rather than distracting him. _Though if you start worrying about impressing Surana, Charter will walk away with your king,_ he scolded himself.

 Both players were on their mettle today, and he almost overlooked a particularly clever trap well into the game. From the gleam of humor in Charter’s eye when he neatly avoided it, she _had_ hoped that Surana’s silent presence would distract him, just that tiny bit that might give her an edge this time. Instead, he used his counter to his own advantage, and within a few more moves, had her king cornered.

 By the shifting shadows, their match alone had taken most of an hour, and Rylen, who’d cheerfully needled both players, straightened and stretched. “Well, I need to move about a bit. Commander, I’ll make the rounds of the guards on the walls, and you can then scare them with another round after your meeting, keep them on their toes.” Popping a last bite of a fritter into his mouth, he strode off with a sketchy salute to all four of them.

 Cullen resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Well, at least I know I’m not late since you’re still here, Charter.”

 “The ambassador and the Inquisitor are so deep in negotiations with their majesties that I suspect we’ll have time to work out anything that doesn’t require them well before they arrive. But, that reminds me, Warden Commander. I have something for you.” Charter produced a folded slip of paper that carried a whiff of clove and orange from some hidden pocket, proffering it with a flourish. “Most Holy asked me to pass this to you and to tell you it’s from Zevran.” Surana stared, then a slight smile played on her lips as she accepted the sheet gingerly.

 “Since this is coming through her, at least I have an explanation for how he found out I was back so quickly.” Unfolding the sheet, she read quickly, irritated amusement flitting across her face from moment to moment. Something near the end of the letter briefly banished the humor, then she began to laugh softly. Lowering the letter, she cocked an eyebrow at Charter. “I’ll be a little more polite than my Antivan friend and not ask if you read this.”

 Charter ignored the not-quite-question but smiled politely. “He did some work for us just before he visited Denerim, actually, so I’ve had a little contact with him previously. Not as much, obviously, as yourself and Most Holy, but he strikes me as a man who enjoys taking risks.”

 “And playing with fire. I can’t wait to hear what Nightingale has planned for him after this.” She glanced down at Timur. “He says to tell you that you’re short on ‘witty conversation’ and he owes you some meaty bones, by the way.” The old warrior sneezed in laughter.

 Cullen cleared his throat hesitantly. “Zevran, isn’t that the friend of Leliana’s who…took care of something for us in Hercinia?”

 Surana regarded him thoughtfully, as if all too aware that he was carefully avoiding the words “assassin” and “assassinate” before finally shrugging. “Zevran was a Crow hired by Loghain to assassinate Alistair and I during the blight. Obviously, he both failed and survived, and it turned out he was, um, interested in parting company with the Crows.” She grinned at his expression. “You can sometimes find help, and friends, in unlikely places, Commander, and I’ve never had a reason to question his loyalty, even when he, well…” Shrugging again, she startled him by handing over the letter.

  _My dear Warden,_

  _How marvelous to hear from the lovely Nightingale that you have rejoined us! But really, my dear, two years alone in the wilderness with only Timur for company? Not that he isn’t a delightful companion, but perhaps a little short on witty conversation, no? I’m certain you had some overwhelmingly heroic reason for the trip, of course, you always seem to, but I am wounded that you didn’t ask me to accompany you two and guard your back if only to make certain you both laughed from time to time._

_If you simply wanted to escape that cold, dreary land, you should have visited Antiva again, you know. It would have been delightful to have your help in my little game with the Crows. Obviously since I am writing, they have not yet successfully arranged a meeting with me, although_ I _have arranged meetings with certain Crows who are, alas, no longer with us. I did find it expedient to temporarily relocate almost a year ago and had a memorable reunion with his majesty, though I am disappointed to report that I can no longer fluster him. Pity. The Warden Alistair had a charming blush when I flirted with him._

  _Speaking of their Ferelden majesties, I also heard that our beloved Nightingale coaxed you into visiting Skyhold without warning you that they were also arriving. That was most unkind of her to force you and her majesty into meeting under the curious eyes of ambassadors as well as the Inquisition’s powers, but I am certain you both played your roles as gracefully as always. Did I hear that your friend, the Teryn, is there as well? And another old friend? My, my, it must be quite the reunion; I am only disappointed that no one thought to invite me!_

  _In truth, I am as glad that you were gone during most of the war between the mages and Templars, whatever Nightingale and her rather intense Seeker friend believed. You did not need to be caught in the middle of THAT conflict, with as little patience as you would have had with either. Though I would have given a great deal to see you turn a meeting of leaders from both sides into ice statues so they were forced to listen to you (on that subject, how many courtiers have experienced your icy touch since you returned?)_

  _Speaking of ice, o goddess, are you still set on your path of icy solitaire after all this time? Has no one stirred the fire in your blood? Or dare I hope you have secretly been harboring a passion for your ravishingly handsome Crow all these years? Yes? Ah, blissful thought! (I feel reasonably safe in believing you have no way to send ice magically through a letter, and even if I am wrong, that risk is worth the thought that you may have blushed as you read this. Do you still blush at flattery? Ah, what a dreadful thought that I might never see that sight again!)_

  _More seriously, my good friend, I have never forgotten my oaths or what we saw in the Deep Roads, and you have but to say the word, and I will be there. Please let me know through our mutual friend how you are, and let your hairy guardian know that I promise to lavish him with the meatiest bones I can find for bringing you back to us at last._

_Maker keep you safe._

_Zev_

_P.S. Nightingale, you are truly to be Divine? Oh, don’t even pretend you didn’t read this before passing it on, my dear. Should I wish you congratulations or condolences?_

_P.S.S. Teryn Fergus, you charming man, would it be possible to bribe you into letting me know how our Warden Commander is really doing? I feel certain you will also learn the contents of this letter._

_A – My dear, it is a very good thing there is nothing we really need to communicate privately, yes? – Z_

 Cullen slowed as he read, taking in the nuances of the phrasing. Obviously most of it conveyed the same light-hearted tone of his messages to Leliana, but he sensed something in the Antivan’s brief reference to “oaths” and the Deep Roads, something unwavering and fervent. That tiny glimpse of what was submerged beneath humor gave him some sudden insight as to why both Leliana and Surana trusted the man. At the same time, he sensed that Arisha handed him the letter to avoid discussing her friendship with the ex-Crow. Or perhaps the oblique reference to Cullen himself, apparently?

 Refolding the letter neatly, he composed his face and offered it back to the mage. “Somehow, I’m not surprised to find that you managed to win loyalty from your assassin, Surana.”

 He was answered with a cocky grin. “Remind me later to tell you how someone else who set out to kill me ended up as my Warden Constable, Commander. But now, I believe you two have a meeting.”

* * *

* * *

Sorry this took even longer than usual. Apparently chess gives me writer's block...

 


	23. Bitter Ale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian, Oculara, and Timur in the tavern...

* * *

 

“They’re what?!” Surana hastily drew her hand back from the oculara, her normally warm brown skin blanching. “These were…Tranquil? Someone killed Tranquil mages and…?”

“I’m afraid so.” Dorian was startled by the horrified way she stared at the two skulls on his desk. “From what we were able to discover, the Venatori brought Tranquil mages close to magical shards then forced demon possession just before killing the possessed Tranquil. Then…this could be used to locate more of the magical shards.” Timur reached up to take Surana’s hand in his mouth as the elf visibly swallowed, like someone trying to keep their stomach under control. “Warden Commander, are you alright?”

She shook her head silently, still transfixed. Finally, Timur made a low rumbling noise and she seemed to shake herself out of it. “Merciful Andraste, I wondered why no one could, or would, tell me where most of the Tranquil were. Dorian, you didn’t live in a southern Circle. I didn’t just _know_ Tranquil.” She closed her eyes to break the spell the oculara had on her. “Owain, Pether, they are…were _friends_. Owain taught me alchemy, and… Maker, for him to have lived through so much to end up like this.”

“Venhedis. Surana, I’m sorry. I didn’t think. Most mages…”

She interrupted, words biting and angry, eyes coldly glaring. “I’m all too aware that most mages try not to even think of the Tranquil because of the threat hanging over their heads that they represent. Well, as far as I’m concerned, Owain and Pether were worth a hundred of the damnable banal’harellan who did this, Fen’harel ma halam…”

Despite her assertion to Sera that she knew little of the Elvhen language, Dorian was reasonably certain from the angry way she spit out the words that she was heaping Dalish curses on the Venatori who were responsible, without ever repeating one for a full minute that he could detect. He did recognize a few words, enough to feel certain of the language, especially when she invoked Fen’Harel several times. For all her cool, disciplined façade, he suddenly realized just how dangerous she could be when angered.

Finally she wound down, and Timur let go of her hand. Gently, she cupped both hands around each of the skulls. “Abelas, mirthadra falon. Whether I knew you or not, may Andraste guide you to the Maker, my friend.” Fierce blue-grey eyes fixed on Dorian, and he suddenly recalled a rumor around Skyhold that she sometimes referred to herself as a mabari bitch. “Why haven’t these been collected and given a decent pyre? And is anything known about what happened to their bodies themselves?”

“I…don’t know. At first, we were studying them…” His voice trailed off as he realized just how weak _we forgot_ was going to sound. “I think I should have a talk with Leliana and Mother Giselle.”

“See that you do, or I’ll sodding steal them all and find a priest to do it myself.” The elf exhaled noisily, clearly still simmering but holding herself rigidly erect. “Fenedhis. I’m going to find a drink or three.”

* * *

* * *

Dorian might not have been around either Surana or Cullen much since she arrived, but he hadn’t been friends with Cullen for all these months to miss his growing attachment to the Warden Commander. Fortunately he managed to locate Leliana between meetings which let him avoid Mother Giselle directly. The soon-to-be Divine seized on the problem quickly and seemed more than a little angry with herself that she hadn’t thought of it on her own. Once he left the problem in her hands, the Tevinter stopped by Cullen’s office and dropped a word in his ear.

As he approached the tavern, Cullen was half aware of the growing laughter coming from that direction, and no one even glanced at the door when he entered the dim room that smelled of bitter ale and sour wine. In fact, almost everyone on the ground floor had their attention fixed on the pair sitting in the floor by the fireplace facing Maryden. Which was just as well because no one saw his mouth drop open. Surana and Timur, her arm around the old mabari as they…sang?

In fact, only Maryden was facing the door and might have seen him, and she was far too busy trying to suppress her own laughter so she could play the ending to a popular and comic bawdy ballad. Surana was carrying most of the song in a pleasant enough voice. Pleasant but very far from the trained dulcet tones of a Leliana or Maryden. But Timur inserted soft howls and other sounds that filled in the nonsense lines and other syllables and words through the final chorus of the song with such smooth coordination between the two that this was obviously a well-rehearsed performance.

            “ _Ow_ good knave, _ow_ well I know,

            “ _Ah-OO, ah-OO, ah-OO._

_“_ A lively sailor should bring _oo_ low,

            “ _Ah-OO, ah-OO, ah-OO._

            “ _Ow_ she’s off to sea, _oo_ know,

            “ _Ah-OO, ah-OO, ah-OO._

            “And she’ll not have _oo_ in tow,

            “Not _-OO,_ Not _-OO,_ Not _-OO.”_

Timur tilted his head back and held the final “ _OO_ ” long enough that even Maryden dissolved into laughter and couldn’t quite pluck out the last measure. Surana turned her head to the side, grinned challengingly, and stuck out her hand, palm up, at the dwarf standing a couple of feet away as the crowd around them cackled and cheered. “Pay up, Varric.”

“Andraste’s ass, Warden, that’ll teach me to doubt your stories! And worth every penny for the laugh.” Cheerfully he slapped several coins into her outstretched palm. “I mean, I taught a mabari to play Diamondback, it isn’t as if I didn’t know what they could do. How’d you come up with the idea to teach him to sing with you?”

Surana pocketed the coins, still smirking triumphantly. “Fenhedis, Varric, do you have any idea how little a Warden can carry into the field that isn’t critical? Not so much as a small book, sometimes. Boring. And there’s an inexplicable lack of taverns in the Deep Roads, you know. So Wardens, or my Wardens at least, took turns telling stories or jokes or singing just to entertain each other while we were in camp. On one trip, someone made a crack about Timur not pitching in his fair share, and the next thing _I_ knew, he was ‘helping’ me sing when my turn came round.” Her smirk got wider. “They laughed so hard that Timur and I worked this song out before we got back to Vigil’s Keep. Won us a lot of bets over the years, too.”

Varric chuckled at this dig, but had a speculative air as he regarded the pair. “I’m not sure I could put that in a book; no one outside Fereldan would believe it. Is that the only song he sings with you?”

Surana shrugged. “We…might know a few more, but you’ll have to ask Timur if he’s willing to sing anything else. He may be too tired.”

The crowd murmured softly as they lingered hopefully, still rippling with laughter. One or two people finally noticed Cullen hovering at the back of the crowd—Maryden winked at him—as Varric attempted to bribe the old warrior. After a minute or so, her mabari met Surana’s eyes firmly and appeared to growl something at her. Surana sobered, hesitating.

“Are you sure?” But Timur resettled himself in place firmly, eyes on the minstrel. Surana shifted, then her hand tightened around his broad grey shoulders briefly before nodding to Maryden.

                    “You know Andraste’s old mabari.

                    “He don’t show up in the Chant.”

Silence descended throughout the tavern as people whispered, faces appearing at the balconies overlooking the main floor’s fire place. Instead of the humorous tag-team song with the mabari filling in syllables and nonsense words with his howls and growls, this time he wove a quiet undercurrent of low barks and growls and whines that created...something. Not a harmony, perhaps a counterpoint, but somehow he…completed the song. Cullen suddenly wondered if the song would ever sound quite right again without the mabari. Within the first few words, Maryden had joined in with her lute. Rather than a complicated arrangement, she picked out the simple notes of the melody alone, supporting the pair rather than risking a conflict with their unusual duet.

                    “They say the Maker sent him special,

                    “Always loyal, without pride…”

Even Cullen had to admit that Surana’s singing voice would be completely forgettable normally. Pleasant at best, with a reliable sense of pitch. But it was the very ordinariness of her voice that projected the intensity of their affection and trust as the partners seemed to weave the song’s story around each other, apparently forgetting that anyone else was there. What they created was somehow both simple and wistfully ethereal. Maryden seemed to recognize that, accompanying them so softly that her melody line dropped until it was barely audible at the edge of hearing.

                    “Oh they thought the wounds had killed him,

                    But then he limped out toward the fire.

                    And Hessarian, he shed a tear,

                    As that dog laid on the pyre.”

Timur fell silent in the last lines of the final chorus as Surana slowly dropped gentle sorrow into a silence as still as a winter’s midnight, conveying a loss as profound as the Void…

                    “Yes, that mabari’s the companion

                    “Of the Maker’s Holy Bride.”

The tavern remained silent for a few moments, then a single person began clapping, gradually joined by dozens of people around the fire and at the railings above. Not a few Fereldans were surreptitiously dabbing at their eyes. Certainly none of them would quickly forget the unique performance. Cullen found himself joining into the applause, though he was also a little unnerved for some reason he couldn’t explain. Glancing up, he saw Teryn Fergus applauding with several of the other Fereldan nobles, but the Teryn was staring down at the pair intently and Cullen saw his own unease reflected.

When he glanced back at Surana and Timur, she was gently scratching Timur’s ears, more interested in the old warrior than the reaction of the audience. Even Varric seemed subdued by the experience, draining his stein before crossing silently to a table where a pitcher and another stein waited. When the crowd had mostly dispersed, Cullen wordlessly approached Surana.

When he stopped close beside her, she finally glanced around, first seeing his boots, then slowly looking upward. Completely uncharacteristically, her face reddened as she identified the figure towering over her from her seat on the floor. “Um, Commander. Can I hope that you just this moment came in?”

He didn’t answer immediately, instead offering her a hand up from the floor, and as he helped her up, he noticed just a slight loss of balance on her part. _Came in looking to forget with a few drinks and stumbled into Varric who was all too willing to help, probably in the hope of prying information out of her._ “I missed most of the first song, unfortunately.”

“Vashedan.” The red flush grew more pronounced ( _Maker’s breath, even the tips of her ears are red!_ ) “Varric may have…challenged my truthfulness and I guess I got a bit carried away.” She shrugged, slowly bringing her embarrassment under control. “You _did_ say I should relax and have a little fun, you know.”

Clearly she wasn’t going to mention the oculara to him first. “So I did. I wish I’d heard all of the first song, but that second one…” He trailed off, unsure how to convey the lingering sadness their performance had left in its wake.

“Timur’s favorite.” The slender woman shrugged again, clearly still a bit embarassed, her left hand lightly resting on the mabari’s head. “He’s never wanted to sing it in front of people before, though. I think maybe he wanted Maryden to hear it.”

“I’m glad I was in time to hear it. I’m not sure I’d have believed Varric when he started retelling it.” He abruptly realized that he hadn’t let go of her hand once she was on her feet though she seemed unaware of that fact. Impulsively, he led her and Timur toward a small corner table behind the fireplace. By that time, Surana was obviously aware of their hands touching, but while she had sucked in a corner of her lip to chew on it, she didn’t give any sign of reclaiming her hand either. Cullen enjoyed the feel of the thin fingers in his, the scars adding an almost pleasant texture to them, and he let them go with reluctance when he held the chair for her.

Once they were seated at the little table, too far from the warmth of the fire and Maryden’s music to be in demand and Timur pressed against her leg, she sighed. “Dorian?”

“Yes.” He didn’t need to ask what she meant and there was no point in hiding why he’d stumbled in at just that moment. “He was worried about you. And feeling more than a little guilty, I think.”

She grimaced. “Almost no one, maybe especially mages, ever remember that the Tranquil are still people.”  Unbidden, the face of Maddox as he lay dying sprang to mind, and something must have alerted Surana because she abruptly pinned him with a fierce stare, waiting wordlessly.

“I would say, especially Templars. A Templar has as much responsibility to protect a Tranquil mage as any other mage, maybe more because they can’t protect themselves, but mostly…” His words came hesitantly, afraid of her reaction at this moment when she had finally begun letting her guard down around him. _What was it she said…‘I have faith that the honorable man I met at Kinloch never became one of those who abused power, and even if he may have lost his way or made mistakes, he’s still that man at heart?’...Maker, what if the truth changes that? But if I hide the truth now, she’ll never believe in me again._ “When I was in Kirkwall, the Knight Commander, Meredith, was making Harrowed mages Tranquil, not because they were a danger, but as a punishment. And I stayed silent because I thought…I’m not sure now what I thought, honestly, except I believed that the threat was so great that she was surely justified in overstepping the rules.”

He met blue-grey eyes reluctantly, afraid he’d see anger or revulsion, but Surana simply studied him expressionlessly. “And what do you believe now?”

Cullen took a deep breath to steady himself before answering. “She was wrong. _I_ was wrong. And afterwards, when I was trying to hold Kirkwall together, I…just assumed the missing Tranquil mages had died.”

“But they hadn’t?”

“Not all of them. Some had been easy targets when they’d wandered the streets and were murdered by angry people. But one of Corypheus’s lieutenants, a former Templar, rescued one Tranquil mage he knew in particular. Samson was caught smuggling a letter from the mage to his lover. Samson was expelled to try to survive lyrium withdrawal while Maddox was made Tranquil.”

Surana grimaced, but still didn’t seem surprised. “I’d heard…rumors about Meredith.”

“The Tranquil aren’t supposed to have emotions, but Maddox was so loyal to Samson that he died for him.”

She nodded, eyes fixed on something unseen above his head as she gently caressed Timur’s head. “I think it’s only when you spend a lot of time working directly with individual Tranquil…they may not feel much, but they do recognize how people treat them, whether kindly or not. Owain…Owain never mentioned to anyone that I’d worked out that stunt with the hair dye, and even if they’d asked him directly, I think he’d have tried to answer in such a vague way that it sounded as if he couldn’t know anything.”

“I never knew that. I…I think the Tranquil, we didn’t pay much attention to them because they weren’t…” He hesitated again as he realized he’d been about to say, _they weren’t dangerous_ , but she finished his sentence before he had a chance to try to rephrase it.

“Because they weren’t attractive to demons, wouldn’t practice blood magic?” Timur shifted under her hand, and the mage and mabari’s eyes locked briefly.

_If I don’t say it now…_ When those blue-grey eyes met his again, he squared his shoulders and forced out the single word.

“Yes.” Surana studied him again for a few moments, and he battled with an urge to squirm uncomfortably under that clear, direct stare. Timur shifted again and made an odd sound, but she didn’t break gazes with Cullen this time. Finally, she raised her chin challengingly.

“You said you believed Meredith was wrong, and you regret accepting what she was doing. But do you still fear mages?”

“No!” He stopped himself, took a slow breath. “Well, no more than I fear anyone with a lot of potential power that can be misused.”

“Good, because if you told me mages didn’t worry you at all, I’d know you were lying to me.” She snapped the words out briskly. “ _I_ worry about mages. But I also worry about the Chantry, Templars, Seekers, royalty, nobles, Grey Wardens, more or less anyone without limits on their power, as well as the Qun and mindless mobs of frightened or angry people. Any of those can torture and murder and destroy. Yet only mages have been locked up and denied things that even the poorest peasant, the most miserable elf, can enjoy to make her life worthwhile.”

Cullen stared helplessly, then he realized that while she was angry, that anger wasn’t directed at him. “And that’s why you’re working with Rylen and the others.”

Thin shoulders shrugged. “Instead of preemptive imprisonment, why not the rule of law?”

“Why not indeed?” He began to relax a little, but his conscience forced him to add more. “Ever since we found out Maddox had survived, I’ve wondered if there weren’t other Tranquil who survived in Kirkwall. Or who might have survived if I’d had my men search for them and protect them. Now, all I can do is…admit I failed them.”

She nodded, eyes fierce. “You’re right, you could have done more. But Commander, don’t underestimate the trauma that you survived before you went to Kirkwall; if you hadn’t seen a potential Uldred in every mage in the Gallows for a while, I’d wonder if the Maker himself was helping you. Meredith’s unbalanced influence fed that fear. If you ever stop feeling guilty though…well, the Maker gave us a conscience for a reason, to remind us to fix what we can, to atone either way, and to let guilt remind us to think before making the same mistake again.” Surana’s eyes shifted to the top of Timur’s head. “I thought about visiting Kirkwall, you know, and maybe that could have helped, both you and Anders. Or maybe made things worse.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I…I was afraid seeing me would hurt you. I thought…I thought you’d see my face and remember…” Her voice faded away with her thought unfinished, still not looking up.

“Maybe. At least at first, I think it was too close. But later…”

“That’s good to know.” Finally her eyes met his, and the impersonal mask that had dropped in place when he had started talking about the Tranquil had slipped a little. “I didn’t actually know Anders was there for a long time or I might have tried to see him. But from what Varric has told me, I’m not sure there was enough Anders left for me to reach him.”

“Probably not.” They stared at each other for a few moments before he went on. “Surana, I’m sorry you found out about your friends that way. Though there’s a chance some of the Tranquil from Kinloch may still be alive.”

“Just not very likely.” She sighed, and Timur shifted his head into her lap. “Tranquility, Tranquility is worse than slavery, you know. The Tranquil lose even the ability to hate or rage within their minds or to hope for escape. Stealing hope from them…”

_She’s right, though I never thought of it that way._ Cullen nodded slowly in understanding.

“I not only had Tranquil friends, I could have _been_ one of them.” Touching on another subject they had avoided, she didn’t mention Jowan directly. Despite his own feelings about the blood mage, Cullen knew his betrayal had probably hurt her far more. “Tranquil or not, I could have been in Kinloch Hold when Uldred rebelled, or later. I survived the Joining, the Blight, everything since then. I _should_ have died dozens of times. But I’m here and they aren’t.”

“We’re both here, but I know I'm here because of you.” Impulsively, he covered her hand briefly with his, so briefly that she didn’t have time to react, and one corner of his mouth twisted upward in a slight smile. “I think…I think everyone who survives terrible things, especially if they watched others die, they feel guilty about being alive.”

“I think so too.” Surana returned that smile with just a trace of one, and he sensed that she was beginning to let go of some of her anger.

“Now, I know Dorian talked to Leliana, but why don’t we go talk to Charter about putting word out to watch for any surviving Tranquil?”


	24. Embrium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Surana's early morning training and another formal entertainment

_Odd how quickly this became a comfortable routine_ , Cullen mused to himself as he and Surana drilled wordlessly at the pells side-by-side the next morning. Their only company was an equally silent Timur, his eyes reflected in the torchlight. _Well, other than the occasional guard passing on the wall above_. Part of him knew that he and the Warden Commander must be a topic of speculation, in the barracks and elsewhere, but as uncomfortable as that thought made him, he also couldn’t bring himself to care about it. At least, as far as he could tell, no one was whispering about how they’d known each other before, but even that was beginning to seem less important.

He resolutely cleared his mind and began a long series of complicated shots at his pell, focusing on the weight and balance of the sword, the snap of his wrist, the position of his elbow, the placement of his feet. _Focus, balance, precision._ For each strike, he visualized the power transmitted by his legs upward through his abdomen and on to his shoulder, the path and angle that the sword should follow, the exact point on the pell he wanted to strike. As he completed each strike or combination and brought his sword back to his ready position, he mentally checked to make certain he had not let his shield sag or swing out, leaving an opening.

 _Form, stance_. All too often, veteran swordsmen practiced at the pell casually, careless with form and stance, satisfied with simply executing the shot more or less correctly, striking about the right place and angle. And practiced without the shield. Foolish. Combat reflexes were built at the pell more than anywhere else. Sloppy pell work conditioned sloppy reflexes. Perfection should be the goal, building muscle memory and reflexes that would ensure your body reacted instantly and correctly. Errors that became reflex would be unconsciously repeated in the stress of combat, openings that a canny opponent could, and would, exploit. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he faintly heard one of his earliest trainers: _You can’t do in combat what you don’t do in practice_.

He finished that series and paused to rotate his shoulders, attention drifting to Surana. Cullen had noticed, approvingly, that she spent the first half of her morning drill practicing a single shot repeatedly, holding her left arm in the correct position for her mage shield. Each time, she executed the new movements once or twice in slow motion, then at half speed, then at full speed, and if she caught herself making a mistake, she immediately started over. She didn’t change to the next shot until she was moving through the current one smoothly and precisely. _No wonder the sword work she knows is almost flawless, however limited. I wonder if I should be grateful to someone for starting her off right._ One corner of his mouth curved up unconsciously. _Maybe, but that drive for perfection is hers. Maker, I suppose it’s an odd thing for me to find so attractive about her_. Unconsciously, the right corner of his mouth twisted up into the hint of a smile.

She shifted her practice to an overhead cross strike that Rylen had recently shown her, and from the way she was scowling at the pell, it was frustrating her. Without thinking, Cullen corrected, “your elbow.”

Until now, he’d been very conscious of respecting her control of her own practice during their shared sessions, and he could have kicked himself for intruding without invitation, but Surana simply paused to raise a questioning eyebrow. “You have to lead more with your elbow and watch the angle of the blade when you strike.” The ex-Templar caught himself holding his breath, but she focused fiercely on the pell, trying it in slow motion, then gradually faster. Not perfect yet, but definitely much improved.

She paused, leaning her sword against her leg, smiling and looking at Cullen from the side of her eyes as she dried her hands with a piece of cloth pulled from her belt. “Thank you. I couldn’t quite work out why it felt so awkward and underpowered.”

“I think your starting sword position makes it feel a little awkward, but once you get used to it, you’ll be able to deliver a lot of force to the right side of an opponent’s helm.” He returned the smile apologetically. “I’m sorry, it wasn’t my place to interfere unasked, but you looked frustrated.”

“I’m glad you did because I was. I’ve picked up everything I know in bits and pieces over the years, not in a disciplined way like you did, and sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever feel like more than half a swordswoman.”

Cullen chuckled. “Since I have yet to see a single Templar best you the first time you spar, I think you may underestimate how much your self-discipline has done for you.” Timur sneezed in amusement, and he grinned over at the dim shape of the mabari. “See? Are you going to argue with Timur?”

“Ah, but without my magic to reinforce it?” She shrugged. “And it’s a mishmash, Alistair showed me some basics from his Templar training, then I learned bits from the qunari arishok, the Orlesian bards, the Antivan Crows, other things I picked up from my wardens over the years. Ironically, even though it’s an elven magic, I never learned anything from the Dalish.”

“Nothing?”

“Hmm, I discussed magical theory with a keeper I know, but the arcane warrior school seems to be lost to most Dalish. Oh, a Dalish warden did show me enough to string a bow and shoot it without being too much of a danger to anyone. Well, except myself.” The elf grinned and rubbed the inside of her left forearm, surprising a laugh out of the ex-Templar. Somehow the fact Surana had obviously learned why archers wear arm guards the hard way was so…mundane. Still, the idea reminded him of a lingering question.

“I have to admit I’m a bit curious about the technique you use, arcane warrior you called it? Can you use it with other weapons?”

She sheathed her sword and led the way to the bench. “I _can_. In theory.”

“But not in practice?” He sat down next to her, watching as Timur settled his head into her lap with a contented sigh.

“Oh, even then and I have a few times, just much less effectively. I started so late, and most of the time I was lucky if I had an hour a day to train. So I chose to learn just one weapon, but as well as I could, and it only made sense to use _this_.” Surana touched the hilt of her sword lightly. “It’s very old, elven I think, and it seems to be made to channel this kind of magic.” The mage shrugged a thin shoulder. “Between this sword and my training, I usually can limit my use of magic to a tiny bit to enhance my speed and strength, plus a little for defense.”

The ex-Templar regarded the sword with more curiosity than wariness. “So it’s a matter of whether you’re fighting with or against reflexes and the weapon you use that controls the amount of mana you need to use?”

“Exactly. With this, I use no more than a trickle of mana most of the time. Up against an opponent like an ar…an ogre, though, I need more defense and more strength to actually break through its thick hide.” Cullen kept himself from reacting when she censored what she was going to say at first. “I’ve walked for at least six or seven hours almost every day since I left the Circle and fought or trained constantly, and that physical conditioning helps conserve my mana too. If I was still as flabby as I was in the Circle, this would drain me of mana almost as quickly as conventional magic.”

“So it’s really only effective if you combine real combat skills with the magic?”

“Yes. For the first few months after I began learning it, I relied more on conventional magic and a staff and only switched over slowly. These days, my staff is mostly a walking stick.” She grinned ruefully. “I wanted to learn quarter staff so I only needed my staff, but Sten pointed out that I’d risk breaking them, and, well, something in their enchantments resists channeling this kind of magic through them.”

He studied the elf speculatively, thinking quickly. “You obviously can more than hold your own with sword and mage shield now, though; would you like to learn the basics of something else?”

Cullen was startled by her surprised alertness, and suddenly he remembered that painful day in his office and quiet, wistful words, _armor and swords meant_ home _somehow._ Then a flash of realization, _she didn’t expect me to offer to train her myself! Did she think I don’t take her skill seriously?_

“What did you have in mind?”

“With the style of combat you’ve adapted, I think you’d be a natural to pick up knife fighting.”

* * *

Half an hour later, they finally paused to discover Teyrn Fergus comfortably lounging on the bench with Timur’s head in his lap, grinning at the sweaty pair. _Were we really so intent that we didn’t notice him, or does he have Varric’s knack of moving so silently that no one sees him?_ The idea of a high-ranking noble possessing that trick was…disconcerting. “Your lordship.”

The Fereldan shook his head. “I suppose it isn’t any use asking you to call me Fergus again, Commander.”

Surana scowled at him. “Even I don’t call you that in front of other people, _your lordship_ , and it’s late enough that at least the servants and soldiers are up and about.”

The dark haired man made a gesture that seemed to concede the point, his grin turning wry at her tartness. “True enough, _Warden Commander._ ”

Surana returned the practice daggers to Cullen with a wordless nod. “Is this an official visit, or are you just wandering around poking your nose into things?”

“Now, no noble would violate the Inquisition’s hospitality like that, my dear Warden.” He paused to give them both time to consider that his words only limited the nobles of the Ferelden party. “Though I admit escaping the courtiers and their majesties’ entourage for a few minutes was appealing.” Surana folded her arms, glaring at him silently, but he continued to grin at her for several more seconds before continuing. “I believe Her Majesty and the Divine-Elect plan to meet with you after breakfast this morning, and since I know you always train in the early morning, I thought you’d appreciate enough warning to be presentable.”

The elf groaned, though when the teyrn tossed her coat to her, she caught it deftly out of the air and shrugged into it briskly. “ _That_ sort of meeting? Shit. Yes, thank you for the warning.” He hefted her bag at her next as Timur rose slowly to his feet and joined her while she settled it over her shoulder.

“Commander, thank you.” Blue-grey eyes gleamed, conveying much more than the simple words, and he nodded, trying not to let his face show the effect on him.

“We can work more tomorrow morning, if there’s time?” He cleared his throat in an effort to sound nonchalant, too aware of the dark eyes taking in every nuance of their interaction.

“Please, I’d like that.”

She flashed a brief grin before pulling her hood up, then waved at Fergus as the pair strode away with quiet dignity. Cullen watched her leave, then crossed to the bench, a little surprised when Teyrn Fergus politely offered him the linen towel he’d left draped atop his own coat. He accepted it with a wordless nod of thanks as the teyrn relaxed back against the wall. “I haven’t had a chance to speak to you for a few days, Commander, but it appears your…conversation with Surana went well?”

“I think so, but if I say more than that, your lordship, I’d be violating her trust.” He spoke firmly as he applied the towel to his forehead and neck, thinking quickly. _Though if what I’ve heard is right, he probably already knows enough._ Not that Cullen would risk being so frank with the Fereldan spymaster.

“Good. I won’t ask, but I’ve noticed a certain tension in her has relaxed a little.” He stared past Cullen as if considering whether to add something, and Cullen abruptly recalled the uneasy expression on Fergus’s face in the tavern yesterday. But dark eyes filled with humor suddenly met amber ones. “In more ways than one. Something’s changed between you two, I think.”

Cullen passed the towel over his face, using the brief concealment to get his expression under control. _He’s her friend. And he approves, however damned awkward his curiosity is,_ Cullen reminded himself. He’d spent hours last evening rehashing the conversation in the tavern the afternoon before, how easily one of them could have said the wrong thing. “I…think so. But there are still things between us that I think need saying.”

Fergus nodded, his arms folded comfortably over his chest. “Probably. She’s spent most of her life holding a wall between herself and the people around her, and she’s got a particular bug about accidentally hurting you, Commander.”

“So you said.”

Some of the humor slipped away, and the teyrn’s voice grew gentle. “Commander, indulge the meddling of a man who can never retrieve his own past, but wants to see a different future for a friend. If you want something lasting between you two, and I somehow believe you do, wait out her doubts. Don’t just wait for _a_ moment, wait for _the_ moment when she lets you see all of her fears, when she lets go of those doubts. Remember, she’s committed herself to building this force of Templars and mages, she’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”

Cullen thought through what he’d said before nodding slowly, the linen towel flapping in his hand as the breeze picked up in the cool, early light. “I think I understand.”

“Good!” Fergus grinned again. “Now, I suspect you might have been told by now that I have a knack for knowing the gossip. There will be a more formal entertainment again tonight. With dancing.”

Nervously, Cullen pulled his own coat on, adjusting the fur collar just to do something with his hands. “What…?”

He really wasn’t certain what he was trying to ask, but Fergus’s grin grew broader— _Maker, he’s almost smirking—_ adding innocently, “I was sorry to hear that you don’t dance, Commander. Surana hates feeling as if she’s on display for the court, but as the person who taught her to dance, I can assure you she actually enjoys dancing…without the audience. A lot.”

* * *

Cullen had reason to be grateful that he and Surana had had quiet time together that morning because he quickly found himself neck deep in sorting out a discipline problem that took up most of the morning. Just at noon, a patrol which had encountered a small gang of bandits returned to Skyhold with prisoners and wounded. He ate a little bread and cold meat as he listened to the sergeant deliver his report then spoke to the guards on the jail cells. By the time he’d checked with the healers on the condition of each of the wounded and spoken to them individually, the afternoon was gone as well, and he couldn’t even spot Surana at dinner. Cullen sternly forced himself not to drink too much of the wine to help stave off the vague headache that was hovering. Not, he was thankful, the sort that presaged a bout of withdrawal sickness, just tension and not much to eat at lunch.

“Commander!” Just as he thought he was going to escape the hall and catch up on routine work before he was required to make an appearance at the entertainment, one of Lady Josephine’s messenger’s came dashing up. “Commander, the ambassador is asking that all of the senior members of the Inquisition please wear their formal uniforms tonight. She apologizes that she didn’t get to talk to you at lunch, but she had one of the servants make certain your uniform was ready to wear for tonight.

 _Merciful Andraste! And with Orlesians present…_ “Yes, please let the ambassador know that I received the message, thank you.”

With that news, he chose to make a brief stop to get a draft for his headache from Adan. Somehow the crotchety alchemist avoided every function the ambassador organized, though that might be as much Josephine’s fear of just what diplomatic disaster he might precipitate if coerced. On the other hand, he hadn’t even appeared at meals with the Inquisitor since the Fereldans had arrived, which probably added to his testiness. The bearded older man just grunted in annoyance, then deftly poured and handed him a cup of sickly green liquid. The foul taste of most of Adan’s brews were legendary, so Cullen steeled himself and gulped the first swallow quickly, almost choking when the taste was unexpectedly ordinary, with a trace of mint and honey in fact. Adan grumbled, turning back to his bench to resume drying glassware. “Heard they’re putting on another fancy party tonight, figured you were going to suffer enough without swallowing bronto piss just to survive the evening.”

Cullen finished off the draft silently. The two men had remained on somewhat uneasy terms since the trip to Adamant, so the uncharacteristic sympathy was unexpected.

“Thank you, I wasn’t looking forward to gagging on it on top of the headache.”

Adan shrugged. “Well, don’t think I’m gettin’ soft. But you’re more likely to _not_ come in asking for somethin’ when you should, or so the Warden Commander says.”

Cullen blinked wordlessly, but before color began to creep up his cheeks, he recalled that Surana had talked to Adan about ways to ease lyrium withdrawal. He managed to nod his thanks and escape with his dignity intact.

His uniform was not only ready, but pointedly laid out on his bed. Grumbling, he removed and put his armor on the armor stand, then donned the uncomfortable garments. Even with his sword reassuringly heavy at his side, the clothing made him feel incredibly defenseless.

Rylen met him at the door from the rotunda, apparently lurking in wait. He grinned sympathetically at the uniform— _damn, why does_ he _get to wear armor_ —then guided Cullen over to a small group of mixed Ferelden and Inquisition officers with the surprise addition of a blonde Orlesian chevalier introduced as Ser Henri who amazingly didn’t look as if he smelled wet mabari in the vicinity of the Fereldans. Clearly the group was an island of invisibility as the courtiers in elaborate garb swept around the group without acknowledgement. _And Andraste keep it so…_

When a gaggle of nobles didn’t make him their immediate target, he began to relax. The group was currently indulging in the harmless exchange of stories about trainees. Trainees seemed amazingly similar in their ability to do stupid or dangerous things, whatever force they served in. Cups were passed round and filled from pitchers on a nearby trestle along the wall, and they might have been comfortably gathered in a tavern rather than on the periphery of a hall filled with silks and satins and velvets and gems glinting in the candlelight. But when Rylen suddenly began to stare, eyes wide, over the shoulder of a Fereldan, Cullen followed his gaze to see Teyrn Fergus and Timur escorting Surana, clearly aiming for them.

He thought he’d seen all of Surana’s masks, but tonight…, tonight she was Surana the courtier. Apparently someone had planned ahead to overrule her own armored dress because this one was clearly made with her in mind. The rich blue velvet gown rather reminded Cullen of illustrations in older books, expertly blending “mage” and “grey warden” into a court gown. It draped from the shoulder in soft folds with a very full skirt that stopped just short of the floor and deep sleeves that fell open from the mid-forearm to reveal long snug undersleeves in silver-and-blue silk brocade patterned with griffons. The belt was a wide band of the same brocade that gathered the folds of the dress just beneath her breasts, with a silver baldric running from the belt on the right side to almost her hip on the left, supporting her sword scabbard. _I wonder how much they had to argue with the tailor to include_ that _touch?_ The collar was high, framing her face which suddenly had a perfect smooth tone and coloring that he hadn’t seen before.

Someone had also rebraided her normally severe hair into a coronet, twined with delicate silver chains with tiny round sapphires and pearls suspended from fragile silver threads, shifting and reflecting soft light with each movement of her head. Another fine silver chain around her neck supported a small silver griffon with sapphire eyes just at the upper swell of her breasts. When her head moved, he realized silver wire filigree hugged the outside of her right ear while a single, simple sapphire droplet dangled from the lobe of her left.

By now the entire group had fallen silent to watch the trio approach. While Surana projected a subtle resignation to Cullen’s eyes, Teyrn Fergus was beaming genially at all of them, while pointedly not looking in Cullen’s direction. The Ferelden officers straightened and saluted him, which he returned cheerfully. “Ah, excellent! Commander Cullen and Knight-Captain Rylen, Most Holy has said specifically that it would give her the greatest pleasure to see the Warden Commander dancing tonight, and we hoped that you wouldn’t mind keeping Timur company again?” Cullen could sense the tension Surana was trying to conceal. _I wonder what game Leliana is up to and how she coerced Surana’s help?_

“Of course, Timur is always welcome company.” The old mabari sneezed in his now familiar laugh, pausing only to lick Surana’s hand before walking to sit down between Cullen and Rylen with great dignity.

“Thank you both.” Surana’s grey-blue eyes took in both the men, then Fergus patted the hand tucked into his elbow.

“Wonderful! Ah, Ser Henri! Ambassador Montilyet said that you had not yet been introduced to the Warden Commander. My lady, this is Ser Henri who has been sent by Empress Celene to act as a liaison to the Inquisition on military matters involving the chevaliers and the Orlesian army. Ser Henri, this is Warden Commander Arisha Surana, the Hero of Fereldan.”

“My lady Warden Commander, it is truly an honor to meet the hero of the Fifth Blight.” He made an elegant half bow, extending his hand for hers with a flourish.

As Surana let go of Fergus’s arm to offer her hand to Ser Henri, Cullen caught the movement of a delicate foot in a blue slipper stepping briefly on the teyrn’s foot in reprisal for adding that title, though the teyrn showed no sign of it as he continued to beam genially at them. _Then again, he probably knows her well enough that he was waiting for that._ Cullen covered his mouth in a polite cough to hide his own grin, then his humor fled. _If that noble son of a genlock even thinks about being rude to her for being an elf…_ He stopped, a little appalled at how angry the thought made him at about the same time that Timur leaned into his leg. However the chevalier gracefully brought her hand to his mouth, kissing it with all the gallantry he’d have shown a grand duchess rather than a base born elf.

“And I’m very pleased to meet you, Ser Henri.” She managed to extract her hand politely with an equally polite smile and gestured toward Timur. “And this is Timur.”

“Ah, yes.” The chevalier rested one hand on his chest and bowed slightly in the mabari’s direction. “I understand he is himself a hero of the Fifth Blight. An honor.”

_An Orlesian, and a noble no less, who has some glimmer of how Fereldans feel about mabari. No wonder Celene chose him._

Timur responded with a pleasant, if noncommittal rumble. The attractive chevalier straightened, then turned a hopeful smile on Surana. “I have so been looking forward to a chance to speak with you, my lady, but it would be terribly rude to ask you to talk about business without honoring the occasion first, especially if it will please the Divine Elect. May I have this dance?” He bowed slightly again, offering his hand.

“Thank you, Ser, that would be lovely.” The chevalier quickly and expertly spun her off into the dancers, leaving behind a faint delicate hint of embrium in the air, and Cullen found himself a bit…unsettled by the chevalier’s charming manner. He barely had time to wonder what it was he was feeling exactly when Fergus stepped a bit closer. The rest of the group, who had remained silent throughout, had turned to the trestle to refill their goblets, speaking in low voices. Fergus let their murmur cover his own soft words.

“Just a warning, Most Holy cornered Surana today and told her if she’s serious about turning this mage and Templar force into something permanent, she herself has to begin coaxing support out of influential people before she can expect the backing of the Chantry. I promised Surana that I’d manage the introductions and stay fairly close at hand when I didn’t have to dance myself.”

Cullen just nodded, some of the pieces falling in place. While Surana as courtier was certainly attractive, he had mixed feelings, maybe because she didn’t look happy about the transformation herself. At least now he understood why.

“I see. Thank you, your lordship.”

Fergus’s eyes slid briefly to the trestle where Rylen was filling the goblet of a rather pretty Fereldan officer, saying something that made her laugh. “It had to be her, you know, or can you honestly imagine your lieutenant there trying to charm nobles?”

Timur sneezed in laughter, and Fergus drifted casually away as if they’d just exchanged pleasant greetings in passing. Unconsciously, Cullen began watching the dancers for a blue dress.

* * *

* * *

 Thanks to R2sMuse and CuriousArtemis for feedback on my description of clothing and everyone else who made suggestions on wording.


	25. Daisies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And let there be dancing...

           

* * *

 

             The teyrn was true to his word. No sooner did Sir Henri return with her than Fergus reappeared with some other notable in tow. He introduced one dance partner after another to Surana, never allowing her time to do more than glance longingly at Timur and the familiar knot of officers, most of whom were familiar to her from congenial evenings drinking in the tavern with Rylen.

             For once, Cullen himself felt fairly comfortable at one of Josephine’s diplomatic affairs, although he had looked forward to at least enjoying Surana’s presence again. A few of the officers wandered away, but they were quickly replaced by others. Surprisingly, Ser Henri lingered and proved to be an amiable addition to their group. The Orlesian even joined those who offered Timur small bits of the snacks being served, which the old warrior accepted with all the dignity of a grand duke receiving the tribute of his subjects.

            Finally, Fergus arrived alone just as an ambassador from Oswick returned Surana at the end of a song, a fair, sleek man who put Cullen’s back up for no reason he could identify. Unless it was the glitter in Surana’s eye and the biting edge to her voice when she greeted Fergus. This time Fergus allowed Surana enough time to at least greet Timur and stroke his head briefly before he whisked her off into the crowd of dancers himself, commenting lightly that he needed her to protect him from a certain comtesse.

            A minute or two later, Ser Henri finished telling a rather funny story about a trip to Markham as an escort to an Orlesian envoy. As the gathered officers laughed, Cullen glanced around to offer Timur another tidbit, but the mabari was nowhere to be seen. Rylen and the Ferelden officer had vanished earlier, something about the armory, and Cullen felt a surge of alarm. Timur had obviously been a very deadly mabari…in his prime. Surana had enemies in the crowded room, people who might see her elderly guardian as a means to strike at her, especially Orlesians who despised mabari and Fereldans equally. _Maker’s breath! Why didn’t it occur to me, to any of us, that he might be a target? As slow as he moves now…_

            He excused himself to the group and was about to charge through the knots of elegantly dressed nobles searching for Timur when the chevalier stopped him. “Are you looking for the Warden’s mabari, Timur was it not?”

            “Yes, um, he’s never wandered off before.”

            Henri smiled winningly, “Just after the teyrn began dancing with the Warden Commander, I saw him walking in that direction.” He pointed gracefully in the general direction of the door that connected the main hall to the rotunda. “He seemed to know exactly where he was going.”

            Cullen thanked the chevalier politely but absently, too distracted to notice how closely the man watched him as he moved away. Moving briskly and trying not to let anyone catch his eye and delay him— _or worse_ —Cullen wove through the crowd to reach the open door. Pausing to turn in a full circle, he couldn’t catch sight of the mabari anywhere among the forest of legs and skirts.

            _Sweet Andraste, if anything’s happened to him…!_ Cullen was about to plunge into the crowded dance floor to search for Timur when a familiar voice halted him.

            “Commander, you look concerned, is everything alright?” Teyrn Fergus smiled at him genially, the very model of a courtier expressing polite interest.

            “No, I mean…I’m not sure. Timur wandered off, and I thought he went this direction.” By now, Cullen was thoroughly shaken. Aside from failing Surana, he’d grown very fond of the old warrior for his own sake.

            “Ah. Well, mabaris can sometimes decide that something needs their attention. Or he needed a handy tree and didn’t want to disturb anyone.” The Fereldan raised an eyebrow at the stairway just inside the doorway. “However, I do believe, Commander, that you should _personally_ inspect the loft. For security reasons, of course.”

            Cullen just stared, unable to organize his thoughts for a moment. _Why would he…unless he spotted someone luring Timur into the loft! And he wants me to handle it discretely._ “Of course, your lordship, thank you.”

            Thankful that the steps weren’t prone to creaking, he went up the steps as quietly and slowly as he could, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, ready to draw. But when his head cleared the edge of the floor and he could survey the softly lit loft, no Orlesian bard or other spy stood gloating over a drugged mabari or any of the other wild scenarios his imagination had whipped up in the seconds since Fergus had urged him up the stairs. Instead, he was surprised to see a slender figure outlined in the diffused light from below, leaning against the railing near a large pot planted with fragrant daisies that lent a fresh perfume to the air. The shape of a mabari pressed against her left leg identified the woman as Surana.

            Cullen barely had time to guess that Teryn Fergus had known she was hiding in Vivienne’s old loft before something alerted her, perhaps the rush of held breath he had suddenly released in his relief. She spun, the blue skirt flaring out around her, hand resting on the hilt of the sword that the Warden Commander had refused to be parted with. Not that Cullen blamed her; the Warden mage had lived too many years ready for an alarm at any instant to feel safe without it. Maybe especially in a crowd of nobles.

            Surana was tense until she identified him, then smiled wryly, and perhaps a little conspiratorially. “Commander? Are you looking for a place to hide as well?”

            “I thought Most Holy planned to keep you busy dancing all night. How did you escape notice?” The commander took the last step or two into the loft.

            Her chin stuck out in that mulish look that meant they had probably pushed her too hard, and Timur sneezed with laughter. “I was dancing with Teryn Fergus, and...we might have finished the dance a little early. Coincidentally just when Nightingale happened to be distracted and conveniently while we were next to a door to the loft.”

            “I see.” Cullen grinned, almost giddy with relief that he’d just let his imagination run away with him, and he responded in the same light vein. “And Timur just happened to be waiting at that same door purely by accident?”

            Her cocky grin was her silent answer before turning back to lean against the balcony railing. “I danced with enough bloody sycophants and lechers for a while. I'm not a sodding ornament to be put on display just to suit them. Did you need to escape too?”

            Cullen leaned against the railing next to her. “No, a little bird told me there was something in the loft that needed my personal attention.”

            Surana exhaled an irritated sigh. “I'd guess it was a Ferelden bird who just happened to know where I was hiding. I'm sorry, Commander. Fergus can be singleminded.” She spoke with a distracted smile, her attention on someone among the dancers instead, and Cullen followed her line of sight to see the crowned heads of Alistair and Anora revolving slowly in a bit of a clear space in the crowd. The queen was smiling at something her king said, her eyes a little brighter and with a bit of softness Cullen didn't remember seeing before. And Alistair was turning that charming smile, so notable during his visit, on his queen, accented by a certain possessive tenderness in the way he held her as they danced.

            “They look happy, don't they?”

            “Yes, and about fu…, er, time. Must be scandalizing the Orlesians.” Her hand rested lightly on Timur’s head.

            Cullen glanced over his shoulder at the nearly empty loft and abruptly made a decision. He straightened, then held out his hand in a half bow. “Well, that same bird told me that you actually do enjoy dancing when you can do it without being a spectacle, and as you should be enjoying yourself…may I have the pleasure of this dance, Warden Commander?”

            She turned from the railing, raising a surprised eyebrow as she stared at his hand, but before she could respond, a sudden shove pushed her off balance. Cullen reached out to steady her, feeling the warmth of her thin, calloused hands as he caught them. Surana rolled her eyes, “Kaffas, Timur!” The elf mock-glared at the old mabari whose lower jaw dropped in amusement. “Next time at least give me a chance to answer first?” Her friend sneezed in laughter, then Surana turned back to Cullen with just the faintest trace of red in her cheeks. “Yes, I would love to dance, Commander, thank you. Even if I _am_ beginning to feel outnumbered.”

            Cullen rested one careful hand on the curve of her waist, relishing the softness of the piled velvet, as she settled one hand tentatively on his shoulder. Then he gently adjusted his other around her free hand as he grinned into her eyes. “Timur is a mabari of uncommon good sense, naturally. Though I admit if I’d planned ahead, I would have bribed him.” As they began to move slowly in time to the music, he was a little surprised to realize how tall she really was, her eyes only inches below his.

            “Hmm, our little bird may have beaten you to it?” Grey-blue eyes met his, both embarrassed and amused. “However, another little bird told me that _you_ didn’t dance, Commander…apparently a little bird who was poorly informed?”

            “I don’t dance for an audience or with a partner I don’t chose for myself.” He spoke firmly. “Those courtiers would notice a single step that was a fraction out of place or a half-second out of time, and I really don’t want to know what they’d say when I stepped on my partner’s foot.”

            “When, not if?” Humor glinted in her eyes now, no longer embarrassed, and for just a moment he held a mischievous, laughing apprentice in his arms. Then his vision cleared and it was the woman, face etched by experience into someone much more…solid than old memories and hopes.

            “Sadly, yes. I never said I danced well. At least I can be certain that my partner for this dance won’t hold any missteps against me.” He smirked at her in answer to her amusement.

            “So sure of me, are you?” He felt more than heard a rumble of almost-silent amusement through her as she grinned back into his eyes.

            “The best dance partner is one you trust completely, Warden Commander. It would be in poor taste for me to have less faith in you than you do in me.” Cullen surprised himself at how glibly the words he’d been thinking slipped out, and her eyes widened, the smile fading as the hidden meaning of his words sunk in. Her hand in his twitched briefly, but she didn’t tense, just stared back in silence. Finally, she glanced around as if trying to find some other less uncomfortable topic, her eyes finally resting on their joined hands, her slender, long fingers enfolded in his much heavier ones.

            “It may sound odd, but sometimes I forget about the differences between humans and elves.” Her scarred fingers wiggled slightly in his as she stared at them. “My hand looks so small next to yours, doesn’t it?”

            Cullen’s thoughts raced and he tried not to tighten his hand on hers in a panic. _Sweet Andraste, what if…no, most of her friends are humans, and Alistair,…surely she’s not saying…_ “Does that…does the difference bother you?”

            They continued revolving in time to the music, surprisingly effortlessly. “Only when people think in words like ‘rabbit’ and ‘knife-ear.’” Calm, cool eyes met his measuringly. “Somehow I don’t think your friendship has anything to do with the shape of my ears or the things some people assume go with those.”

            Cullen forced himself to relax, reminding himself that Fergus and Timur surely wouldn’t have encouraged him if they thought she had any hesitations. Instead, he cocked his head slightly to look at the ear with the sapphire drop swaying hypnotically, one side of his mouth twisting up into a smile. “I do like your ears, actually, but that’s because they’re attached to _you_.”

            She chuckled then returned the appraisal. “It really isn’t fair for me to use you as a standard of comparison; you’re rather…better grown than most people, human or elf. You know, I’m not certain I’ve ever seen you wear anything that wasn’t mostly armor, Commander. I need to remember to congratulate Josephine and Leliana on the Inquisition’s formal uniform. I could almost believe they designed it with you in mind.”

            “I feel much more…charitable about it, hearing you say that.” He let himself admire the way the dress warmed her appearance, though he also relished how she dropped the sternly controlled façade when they were not being observed. The velvet and silk brocade were inviting, and the colors, especially the rich blue in the high collar framing her face, the tiny sapphires and pearls studding the coronet of her braid… “I need to remember to congratulate them as well on a dress that does you justice, Surana.”

            “I wouldn’t have let them do it if they hadn’t surprised me with it already made; who knows when I’ll find a reason to wear it again after this, but it is lovely, isn’t it?” She glanced at her arm, admiring the rich blue velvet turned back from the silver-and-blue silk brocade of the under sleeve.

            “It _is_ lovely, but I admit, I don’t believe I’d have noticed that dress if you weren’t the one wearing it.” Cullen wondered if he might have undone the shift in their relationship and almost held his breath for a moment, but surely she wouldn’t take offense at a simple compliment. She’d mentioned his appearance first after all, an unexpected gift he’d already tucked away to take out and savor later in private. _I knew she wasn’t repulsed by me, but that’s a long way from being attracted to me, after all. Maker, I’m not sure I could say things like this without stuttering if it was anyone else though._ He felt her fingers twitch slightly again, and she kept her eyes on the sleeve for a few moments longer, biting her lip, before turning her face back toward him.

            She was composed, though he was relieved that the cool remoteness hadn’t returned. But he could read Surana’s expressions well enough to guess that, while she had a small smile, she was also engaged in some sort of internal struggle. _I should just enjoy dancing with her and not push any further tonight. Maker’s breath, how many times have I thought of what it would feel like to hold her in my arms and now…here she is. Alone…except for a silent chaperone who apparently approves._

            They revolved slowly around the loft in silence, Templars and mages, Wardens and Inquisitions forgotten, losing themselves in the music and the movements, eyes locked. As the song wound down into the last few measures, he realized he’d slowly drawn her closer as they danced, and their torsos were almost molded together, his hand now resting lightly on the small of her muscular back where he could just sense the swell of her hips starting. As the warm shape of her against him began to sink in, he saw in her eyes that she was also very aware of just how close they were…and wasn’t tensing, just watching his face curiously. They drifted to a wordless stop with the last notes of the music, arms still outstretched as if simply paused in their dance surrounded by the gentle scent of daisies and just a faint whiff of sweet embrium from Surana’s hair.

            Both remained perfectly still, and Cullen could feel her chest rising and falling slowly against his with each breath, then wondered if he was breathing himself. _Her face is so close; we’re almost of a height and her lips are right there, I could…_ He realized his eyes had dropped to her lips, and when their eyes met again, he saw that she’d watched and knew what had passed through his mind. She hadn’t tensed under his hand. But at the same time, he saw that trace of doubt and resolutely pushed the thought away.

            _Not yet. I think she’d let me_ now _just because of the moment, but tomorrow she might push me away again. I don’t want to win a battle; I want to win a war._ He again remembered Fergus’s advice to be patient, and instead his lips twisted into a crooked smile and were answered by one tinged by pleased surprise. At that moment, Timur, who’d remained remarkably quiet and motionless while they dance, rumbled something not quite a growl. They glanced toward the stairs to see a sheepish Dorian paused mid-step near the top.

            “Oh, Commander, I’m, uh, sorry to interrupt, but Lady Josephine needs you, something military, I assume, and she asked me to find you.”

            Cullen nodded silently, putting just enough space between himself and Surana to hold both her hands in his and impulsively raised them to his lips to kiss them one at a time with the lightest and briefest of pressures. “Thank you for the dance, Warden Commander, I can’t think of anything that could have brightened my evening more.”

            He felt her squeeze his hands back just slightly before releasing them, then she cocked her head to the side with just a bit of mischief to her expression. “It was lovely, Commander. My feet are untrodden, and if there was a step out of place or time, I missed it. You are a far better dance partner than you think.” Cullen inhaled sharply, sensing the double meaning to her own words, then let go of her hands, striding quickly past Dorian to vanish down the stairs.

* * *

             Dorian watched the Commander leave curiously, then crossed to the railing where Surana was again watching the dancers with Timur. She didn’t turn to look at him as he leaned on the railing on the other side of Timur, but she didn’t seem unwelcoming either. The Tevinter’s curiosity had been burning since she’d first claimed friendship with an ex-Templar who’d once been charged with striking her down.

            “So, um, Surana, you and the Commander…?”

            “Were dancing? Obviously.” Nothing in her answer invited further questions, but he couldn’t resist taking advantage of the privacy of the moment.

            “Well, you’ve known each other for a long time, I mean before you were the Warden Commander.”

            “Yes? You’ve known that since the day I arrived at Skyhold and I had to explain what his role at my Harrowing was.” She kept her eyes fixed on the dance floor, her tone that of someone being remarkably patient with unwelcome questions.

            “It’s just, well, he was a Templar and you’re a mage.”

            “Dorian, you don’t usually waste words restating the obvious. Just what are you asking?”

            “I’m…not entirely sure what I’m trying to ask, especially since my ideas about your Circles are probably as accurate as your notions on Tevinter mages. I admire the Commander, you know, more than I’d ever let on, because as a devout ex-Templar, he’s the last person I’d have expected to trust me, and yet, he went out of his way to befriend me here. And I know despite the rules, er, things sometimes happened…”

            “Vashedan!” She seemed to sag. “Shit. If I don’t tell you at least some of it, you’ll be imagining all sorts of things and getting it mixed up talking to someone without meaning to. But Dorian, you have to swear to me on anything you hold sacred that you won’t breathe a word of it and will _never_ let on to Cullen that you know about this.”

            “I’m sorry, of course I promise, but you don’t need to tell me anything. It was rude of me to imply anything inappropriate.”

            Surana shrugged, her hand moving on Timur’s head slowly. “Well, let me put _that_ to rest immediately. You have to have realized how strong his sense of honor is; can you really imagine Cullen doing anything inappropriate even now?”

            “No, that’s why my normal silver tongue seems to be eluding me.”

            “Something does bind us together, but it isn’t some, oh, some mad passion we held onto for a dozen years. It’s more…unfinished business, I guess? Shared memories of a past no one else has survived to remember, maybe? You have to understand, the southern Circles were mostly closed worlds, and in the background, you were aware of Templar eyes on you every minute of every day as a mage. You always knew exactly which Templars were in sight and precisely where they were and just how hostile each individual Templar was.

            “Kinloch wasn’t the worst Circle—Kirkwall’s Gallows, for instance, had a reputation even then—but Greagoir was particularly reluctant to allow even senior mages to go outside the Circle. Well, other than old Wynne. But every year, they’d rotate in a few new Templars, replacing those who were being ‘retired.’ Even those who’d just finished training usually acted as if we weren’t people, and a few clearly thought we were no more than dangerous animals. But even Templars who seemed kind and thoughtful at first would quickly change under the influence of the others, so when Cullen first came to Kinloch, full of idealism, I assumed he’d be one of them.

            “But he didn’t change. Oh, he wasn’t overly friendly with us, but he was willing to answer questions without being rude, which was damned unusual on its own.” Surana chuckled reminiscently. “My friends and I often cautiously tested newer Templars to judge the limits of their tolerance, or rather I did it because I didn’t mind if Irving sent me to assist Owain for a month or two if I misjudged. I’d play small jokes on someone within their sight, never anything using magic and always trivial. How they reacted told us a lot about who to be most cautious around. They generally would ignore harmless jokes—like they were watching dogs bark at each other—but some would scowl at us, and the worst…well, we usually had already spotted _those_ and didn’t bother.

            “Cullen, though? I swear his cough was covering a laugh, which may have been the second or third time that _ever_ happened. What really surprised us was that he never started ignoring us. Oh, he pretended to, but one corner of his mouth would curl up just a bit in a hint of a smile he couldn’t control.”

            Dorian chuckled. “He still does that.”

            “I…may have noticed.” Surana was silent for a few seconds, looking down into Timur’s eyes. “I doubt he ever guessed that I continued playing jokes near him just to see it. But believe me, I understood the lessons of the Circle very, _very_ well, and any…attachment would have been dangerous, much less one with a Templar. We never did more than exchange pleasant words and occasionally he’d ask about my studies. Innocent enough, not that it went unnoticed. I still don’t know if Cullen understood that he was assigned to my Harrowing as a reminder to us both.

            “Within a day after that, I was gone to the Wardens.” She shrugged again. “Why isn’t important; both Irving and Greagoir are long dead now. But I ended up back at Kinloch within a few months with the Grey Warden treaties, trying to get the help of both mages and Templars. I hoped.”

            Dorian eyed her shrewdly. “ _And_ Templars? Especially one strapping young Templar?”

            She raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you really think Greagoir would have let us leave together, after already delivering a warning? I admit, while we were on the trip there, a part of me that wondered what might happen if he did. Technically, I was no longer a Circle mage so there would have been no official consequences, though now I realize Cullen would never have seen it that way.”

            “The stories don’t mention any Templars at the Battle of Denerim. So what happened when you got there?”

            Timur looked up at her intently, then took her hand gently in his mouth while she hesitated. “We’d heard some rumors on the trip, so I was certain there was something wrong when I got there even before our old boatman recognized and warned me. When we walked in, I found the doors to the tower sealed with only a handful of Templars outside, and most of those were injured. I knew seeing Greagoir again would be…unpleasant, but I never in my wildest dreams expected to find part of the circle had rebelled, and the tower overrun with demons and abominations. Greagoir was just waiting for reinforcements from Denerim before invoking the Rite of Annulment.”

            “Kaffas! I’m…sorry. Obviously that didn't happen?”

            “Dorian, inside those doors, that had been my entire _world_ , the only world I remembered until I left with Duncan. Everyone I knew, everyone I had ever cared about was inside those doors; I couldn’t just walk away and not try to save them. All of Fereldan and the Blight weren’t as important to me as they were. So I convinced Greagoir to let me through, but he made the condition that once we entered, they would lock the doors behind us and not let us out until we had the First Enchanter with us.”

            “That was…quite a risk. If Irving had already been dead…”

            “I had to try to save what I could.” She was silent for a few moments, then continued in a quiet voice devoid of emotion. “I…can’t describe what I saw, but…most of the mages were dead or abominations, almost all of the Templars were dead or possessed. All of my friends, the only family I’d ever had…I found their bodies, one by one. _All_ of them.” Timur held her eyes as she hesitated. “I still feel like half my heart had been cut away.”

            “I notice you haven’t mentioned Cullen. Obviously he wasn’t dead or possessed, was he holding the outer doors?” From his tone, clearly Dorian was not really very hopeful that that was the case.

            “No.” She dropped the single word into the silence created between the end of one song and the beginning of another. By now, her hand was scratching Timur’s ears again while she stared at him, and for the first time, Dorian recognized how much strength she was drawing from that habitual contact. “In all that tower, we found one Templar who was alive but not possessed. Vashedan, it’s…harder to talk about than I realized it would be, now that I’ve seen him again, alive and whole. Or mostly so.

            “He was being held in some sort of mage prison, surrounded by the bodies of Templars who hadn’t survived. But they hadn’t broken him.” She paused again, clearly reliving that moment in her memories, before continuing. “Obviously we found Irving alive and broke the rebellion after that. But I’ve never been able to forget what I saw in the tower.”

            “It sounds dreadful; I’m sure any sane person would have nightmares after that.”

            “I’ve reminded myself over and over of how Cullen had been tortured, denied food, water, lyrium, and _still_ held out, and if he could do that, well, shouldn’t I try to be as strong? Finding and freeing him, that’s the only thing that’s made the horrors in that tower bearable. I’ve clung to that memory, and that binds us together, I think, or at least for me. He’s my only anchor to a past when Arisha Surana wasn’t a warden.”

            “Now that I’ve heard the story, I think perhaps it’s the same for him, but from the way you two were lost in each other when I so boorishly interrupted, I’d have to say there’s much more than that now.”

            “Yes. I thought he’d never want to see me again, to be reminded of what was done to him...” Her voice trailed off, and Dorian spoke gently.

            “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

            “What do I know about love?” Her words were almost angry. “It isn’t exactly something that was encouraged growing up, you know, and the one time I listened to my heart instead of my head…well, that not only didn’t end well, I’m still living with the repercussions.”

            “Hmm, yes, court gossip, delightfully vicious in every land, I’ve noticed. I’m certain they’ve had you in bed with half the court, all evidence to the contrary too. Still, that was a long time ago, and from all appearances, cheerfully in the past for everyone except the gossips. You could do much worse than someone like Cullen, you know.”

            Surana was silent for a moment, then spoke softly. “Maybe the question is, doesn’t Cullen deserve better?”

            “My dear Warden Commander, surely you aren't serious? Do better than the Hero of the Fifth Blight? A woman who brought down an archdemon and wears a sword over her dress, and armor under it when she can get away with it? A woman he looks at like a drowning man does at a hand stretched out to save him? Surely this isn’t because you’re a mage, is it?”         

            “No.” Her hand stilled on Timur’s head, and the old warrior shifted to take her hand back into his mouth. “Dorian, I know you were with the Inquisitor at Adamant. You know Grey Wardens aren’t Andraste's holy knights out of legend.”

            “Yes, but somehow I’m not sure you’d make Clarel’s mistakes even under Corypheus’s influence.”

            She shrugged a thin shoulder. “We’ll never know, though I’m just as glad not to put it to the test. But I have made other choices, and some of them may yet turn out to be disastrous, and others might have but didn’t. And I think Cullen…”

            Surana gave Timur a last pat, then rested her head on her hands, watching the dancers. “You know, Alistair really wasn’t suited to make the harsh choices that the Wardens have to, it would have changed him even more than becoming king did. I could, and have, made those choices. But I hated having to explain those choices to him, to look him in the face when I made them.”

            “Cullen’s made his own hard choices, from everything I’ve heard, so I’m not sure I understand what that has to do with Cullen deserving better?”

            “Because Cullen might _be_ one of those choices.” Dorian followed her gaze and saw that she was watching a small group near the head of the room, and he could make out Cullen’s fair hair from the back. “After realizing how close I came to seeing Alistair killed at the Battle of Denerim, I decided that I would never risk getting involved with one of my Wardens again. But when I first went to Vigil’s Keep, I didn’t even have Timur with me. So I became close friends with one of the first wardens I recruited without really thinking about whether or not I should.”

            “What happened?”

            “One day, I had to make a choice between risking a few wardens or saving the people of Amaranthine. She was one of those wardens, and I knew she would die, that she wanted to die. And I gave the orders knowing I was killing one of my best friends.” Her voice was quietly calm, and he couldn’t quite see her face, turned away into the shadows. “And even now, I’d give the same orders again. An old mentor of mine once warned me that I might have to make a choice like that one day; she was talking about love instead of friendship at the time, but I suppose she’d be proud that I put my duty ahead of anything else.”

            “You said she wanted to die?”

            “Legion of the dead, so she joined the wardens already sworn to fight darkspawn, and with more reason than most.”

            “So she made that choice herself, and you chose to save an entire city instead. I’m not seeing why this makes you unworthy of Cullen’s affections in your mind.” Dorian spoke lightly, but gently.

            Her eyes followed that fair head as Cullen moved from the small knot of people to the thrones where the Inquisitor and the Divine Elect were seated. “Because there is no one I wouldn’t risk or sacrifice to protect people, Dorian. Even him. Doesn’t Cullen deserve someone who isn’t so consumed they might sacrifice everything and everyone, including him?”

* * *

 


End file.
